The tone of his partner was incredulous. In the seven years that Sam O’Reiley had known Tom, he had never known him to lie, or cheat or steal. Except for the fact of Tom’s incarceration, Sam had no reason to think Tom could commit the slightest act of naughtiness. Sam also had never known Tom to enter a plea of not-guilty on behalf of his clients. In fact, no client Tom had ever represented had ever plead innocent to a crime. Tom had a way of sniffing around the slightest hint of indulgent talk to find the truth of a matter. However, for most of his clients Tom needed nothing more than a cool logical intellect to discern guilt. Knowledge of a client’s guilt would not under most circumstances move an attorney to seemingly throw in the towel and plead for the mercy of the court. Tom had the uncanny ability to get help for clients, in the process of inculpating them. Seemingly iron-clad judges and prosecutors would bend to the generally reasonable demands he would make. To be sure, his clients paid a debt to society, but they often avoided the hell that was life as a repeat offender. He could negotiate psychiatric assistance from prison in exchange for the hardest labor. He could place clients in prisons where race relations would not require clients to sell their soul to the closest gang for protection. He knew the system well. Surely he crawled his way out of his past life by exploiting it.
Not many a convicted rapist can find a law school that will admit him. Nor can a menace to society, even a reformed one, easily find admittance to the practice of law. Tom did however, by exploiting ever kind grace, and sense of higher liberal principle. Of course, his quid pro quo was to be the defense of innocently charged criminal defendants. Things did not quite work out as some had planned. Rather than vigorously defending defendants innocence, he seemed to be interested in proffering only so much reasoned argument prepare for a plea. No doubt plea-bargains were common place but Tom seemed to working for the other side. In the end, his clients were always pleased with the outcome, five-years out (the average sentence). Hard and fast was Tom’s way. The liberal bar didn’t like him. They felt he’d sold them out, or betrayed his convictions. Afterall, here was the man who had ridden the goodwill of many supporters to become famous declaring his innocence and attacking the legitimacy of a criminal justice system that ignored race only so far as it targeted for it.
Tom declared his sanity to Sam. He also claimed to be true to his convictions. He was waiting for the innocent victim to come along–his pyrrhic champion. He would wait no longer.
Sam had shared much with Tom over the seven years he’d known him. When they started out together as young public defenders, the only thing they shared was the same last name. Tom had finished school at a barely accredited state school, after scraping to finish a undergraduate degree from an equally regarded local school.
Sam’s upbringing was quite different. A wealthy suburban kid who did well in school, he enjoyed a seemingly effortless rise to a top law school, well greased by expensive tutors, prep-courses, and the occasional nudge from his influential father. Sam’s love of the law was a matter of breeding. That certainly didn’t limit his ability. He was an impeccable attorney–wasting his talent in his father’s heated opinion. Nevertheless, his only significant fault was he didn’t remember much of his undergraduate studies from all the drinking–a habit not completely shed.
Tom’s exposure to learning was very different. During his eleven years in prison, he had kept himself busy reading everything he could find. It had paid off. In the twelve years since he had left prison, he had risen to become one of the most savvy criminal attorneys in the state. It was only too ironic that twelve years prior to that he stood in a courtroom for his sentencing.
Today was a special day for Tom. He explained the facts of the case to his partner, ignoring the subtle clues of Sam’s other interest in Tom. Tom sold a story of police wrongdoing, prosecutorial discretion abused, and an innocent boy at the wrong place at the wrong time. The story was a convincing one. It was told with the same passion Tom always conveyed. There was something different from all the other stories Sam had heard. Somehow he didn’t believe it. It didn’t seem right.
Tom continued. Eventually, Sam was convinced that the case was a likely win. He was comfortable with Tom arguing for the client’s innocence. Something didn’t seem right though. Sam left the room somehow confused by the meeting.
Tom was silent. He stared out the window. He was finally ready to tell another story. A story of a boy who was also at the wrong place at the wrong time–a long time ago. This boy however was not right in the head. He was mixed up. He’d had too many things happen to him to be a friendly dinner date. The story Tom didn’t tell Sam would have been a short one. He would have set the scene in a bar, and closed in a bathroom. The story would not have been pleasant, but it was a story Sam deserved to hear. It was a story Tom should have told alot of people long ago. It was a story that would end properly with a judge announcing a single word at its close, “guilty.”
It was not a story Tom would consider telling again. In fact, he had to run to catch up with Sam to explain that they would have a new story to tell about their current client. That story alone would end honestly with the client’s soft uttering, “guilty.”