Chump Change Read Free

guess I’m still a few pitons short of the peak. No matter what anybody says, money changes everything.
    He took one look at me shuffling into the courtroom and put on his bemused face. Same expression as when we were eight years old and thought the height of humor was phoning Kennedy’s Funeral Home and asking for Myra Mains. Back in the day, extricating me from trouble had been a fairly common occurrence. These days . . . not so much. Apparently, I’m not nearly as interesting as I used to be.
    His uptown Brioni suit looked out of place in the funky old courtroom. I gave him my best Elvis lip curl and sat down in the chair beside him. I looked back over my shoulder. Apparently, assaulting an officer was not front-page news in this neck of the woods. The courtroom was nearly empty. Half a dozen geezers in the back row and the older of the two cops from last night. That was it.
    Rachel sat two rows behind us. She’d been shopping. Found herself a well-tailored black suit that looked a bit tight across the chest but otherwise seemed to convey the moral gravity of this morning’s proceedings. A fashion plate, that one.
    The bailiff wasted no time. Took him fifteen seconds to run through the wheres, the whos, and the whys, during which Judge Keenan looked as if she’d rather be nearly anyplace else on earth. Before the bailiff’s echo had successfully exited the room, she looked out over her half-glasses at Jed and me. “To what do we owe the honor of a visit from the estimable Jedediah James?” she inquired.
    “Just practicing my trade, Your Honor,” Jed said, with a straight face.
    She arched her right eyebrow. “You’ll have to excuse me if I find it a bit odd that a relatively mundane matter such as this should attract such high-powered legal representation. Rather like hunting ants with an elephant gun, wouldn’t you say?”
    “Leo and I are old chums,” he said with an embarrassed smile.
    She lowered the eyebrow to half-mast, nodded, and turned her attention to the nondescript assistant district attorney sitting at the table across the aisle. “I’m given to understand, Mr. Fisher, that you and Mr. James have reached an accommodation as to the disposition in the matter of . . .” She read from the document in front of her. “Felonious assault. Assault on an officer. Interference with an officer in the performance of his duties. Resisting arrest. Disorderly conduct . . .” She rolled her wrist a couple of times, as if to say “et cetera, et cetera.”
    “We have, Your Honor,” the ADA interrupted.
    She began to read again. “Wherein Mr. Waterman is released on his own recognizance, pending possible further legal action at the discretion of the Lewis County District Attorney’s Office at some unspecified future date. Is that correct?”
    “Yes, Your Honor,” he said.
    She scowled and sat back in her chair. “And why would that be?” she asked. “I mean . . . you charged the man with everything short of murder. Why the sudden urge to largesse?”
    “I’m not sure what you mean . . .” the ADA stammered.
    She peered down at him, disbelievingly. “The matter of assaulting an officer . . .” She leaned forward onto her elbows. “. . . is, in my opinion, not subject to plea agreements. I understand the young man had to be hospitalized.” She threw a disgusted hand in the air. “I don’t see that kind of offense as bargainable.” Her tone dared him to disagree.
    Fisher may have been nondescript, but he wasn’t stupid. “There were . . . uh . . . extenuating circumstances,” the ADA said.
    “Such as?”
    The words were across my lips before they crossed my mind. “Such as, a man ended up dead for absolutely no reason.”
    She gave me that specimen-jar look again. “Excuse me?”
    I stood up. “I guess I want to say something.”
    “I don’t recommend it,” she snapped. “That’s what lawyers are for.”
    “I want to get what happened onto the record,” I