Solomon Vs. Lord Part 61

Matamoras, Mexico? Tegucigalpa, Honduras?

He'd never been to either place, just liked the sound of the names.

"Now, Ms. Solomon," the judge began, nailing Janice with a steely look, "my question is this . . ."

Steve sneaked a peek at Victoria. Perched on the edge of her chair, she looked like a bird about to take flight.

"Between the state and your brother," the judge continued, "who would you choose to care for your son?"

"Your Honor, I have something to say," Victoria said.

d.a.m.n. Steve wondered if his pa.s.sport was up-to-date.

"Hold on, Ms. Lord," the judge said. "You'll get your chance. Now, Ms. Solomon-"

"It's important, Your Honor."

"I said, in a minute." Judge Rolle gave Victoria a stern look, then turned back to Janice. "The state or your brother, Ms. Solomon? What's your choice?"

Victoria fidgeted in her chair but kept quiet. For the moment.

"I been in enough state facilities to know the s.h.i.+t that goes down there," Janice said. "Stevie's blood. He's good people. Why not give him a shot?"

"I thought so," the judge said.

Victoria sat at her table, clutching her note cards in a white-knuckled grip.

What's she going to do?

"Does the state have any more witnesses?" the judge asked.

"My cupboard is bare," Zinkavich said, "but I move for a continuance until I can locate Mr. Thigpen."

"Denied."

"Then I ask that the Court withhold ruling until the State Attorney's Office can investigate the veracity of Ms. Solomon's testimony," Zinkavich said, desperately.

"Denied."

"I request for a stay of all proceedings until-"

"Denied. Ms. Lord, please sum up for the Pet.i.tioner."

Victoria seemed stunned. "Oh, Your Honor, I'm not ready for closing argument. But there's something I need to disclose-"

"Ms. Lord, if you're half the lawyer I think you are, you already know which way the Court is leaning. So stand up, talk quick, then sit down."

Victoria stood, shakily. "This is difficult. I don't know exactly how to say this."

She was torn, Steve thought. Torn between her heart and those d.a.m.n rules.

"Ms. Lord, just give me a thought or two about Mr. Solomon, and we'll call it a day, okay?"

Victoria's eyes seemed to focus on a spot on the wall. She sighed. Then she said, "Your Honor, Steve Solomon is the most exasperating man I have ever known."

"That's a start," the judge said. "Go on."

"He has great empathy for people who've got no one to stand up for them. But he's also maddening, impetuous, utterly irrational."

Winging it, Steve thought. But where would she land?

"He has absolutely no respect for the rules," Victoria continued. "He makes up his own. He's witty and fun and smart, but he can do some incredibly stupid, thoughtless things. He-"

"Your Honor," Zinkavich interrupted. "Is this closing argument or couples therapy?"

"Quiet," the judge said. "I want to see where this is going."

"I know this man, Steve Solomon," Victoria said. "Oh, Judge, I know him so well. I've looked deep inside him."

"Objection!" Zinkavich shouted. "Counsel is testifying. It's totally improper to offer personal opinions on the issues."

"Counsel is right," Victoria said, before the judge could rule. "I just crossed the line. It's forbidden by the rules. Frowned on by legal scholars." Her voice took on a sarcastic lilt. "And, oh, how I've always followed the rules."

Her face was flushed now, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng with sparks. Running on emotion.

"I got straight A's while working two jobs and playing varsity tennis at Princeton," Victoria said, while unb.u.t.toning her double-breasted jacket. "At Yale, I was the star of the law journal." She tore off her jacket and tossed it at Steve. His hands came up late, and the jacket covered his face before he could whisk it away.

"I was going to make my mark in the public sector," she continued, "spend time in private practice, then go on the bench. All mapped out on color-coded note cards. I planned something else, too. A tall, handsome, suitable husband and two-point-four perfect children. And I was going to follow all the rules."

Victoria turned, walked back to the table, and drew back an arm. For a second, Steve thought she was going to slug him, but instead, she swept an open palm across the table, knocking her files to the floor with a crash. "That's what I think of the rules!"

Three note cards remained on the table. She scooped them up and tore them into pieces, showering Steve with confetti. "And that's what I think of my stupid, color-coded note cards."

Complete meltdown, Steve thought. He had no idea what she would say next, figured she didn't, either.

"And I'll tell you something else, Judge."

Here it is. The end of the line. She was going to snitch on him.

"My feet are killing me." She propped one ankle over a knee, pried off an ankle-strapped Prada pump, and tossed it to Steve. The second shoe came a moment later. The toss was low, but he scooped it up in one hand.

Victoria padded toward the bench in her panty-hosed feet. "Where was I, Your Honor?"

"Somewhere between Mr. Solomon's irresponsible and irritating conduct and your two-point-four perfect children. And may I compliment you on your toenail polish? Malibu Sunset?"

"Painted Desert, Your Honor."

Victoria moved back to her table, and for a moment, Steve panicked: the brown taffeta blouse might be coming off next. "Steve Solomon's taught me so much," she said. "'When the law doesn't work,' he always says, 'you work the law.' At first, it sounded illegal or at least immoral. But it's not. When used to do good, it's the true meaning of the law. Law tinged with compa.s.sion. Law that seeks the truth. Law that protects the innocent. It's the only place where the law and justice truly meet." She turned toward Steve, her eyes glistening with tears. "Otherwise, we're just robots. Unfeeling automatons. Bloodless and soulless. Sin alma o corazn."

She picked up a paper clip from the table, twisted it apart, p.r.i.c.ked a finger with a sharp end.

Ouch.

She held up her hand. A drop of blood oozed from a fingertip.

"I'm not a robot. I bleed. I feel pain. And I feel love. So does Steve Solomon. I've never known anyone who loves a child more, who gives more of himself to a child."

She stood there a moment, seemingly dazed, then turned back to the judge. "Your Honor, may I be excused?"

"Go on now," the judge said, with a wave of her hand, "before you bleed on your skirt. Philippe Adec?"

"Zanella."

"Lovely. Wish I was tall enough for the A-line."

Victoria scooped up her purse and headed for the door. Leaving her shoes, her jacket, and her client behind.

"Z, you got anything to add to these proceedings?" the judge asked.

"Only that I wish I'd gone to dental school," Zinkavich said.

Judge Rolle leaned back in her chair and spun a full 360 degrees. When she stopped, she drilled Steve with a steady gaze. "You must be a handful, Mr. Solomon."

"Beg your pardon, Judge?"

"To get a woman like that so hot and bothered." She sighed. "You Solomon men are really something."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve agreed, not knowing what else to say.

"Okay, here's the way it's gonna be." The judge pulled out the court file, made a notation on the cover. "Mr. Solomon's pet.i.tion is granted. He is awarded full guardians.h.i.+p rights with no limitations other than my request to bring Bobby to chambers for lunch now and then."

She banged her gavel and headed off the bench. Zinkavich gathered his files and left without a word.

Steve sat there alone, shredded pieces of note cards stuck to his jacket.

Holding one of Victoria's shoes, the inside still warm to the touch.

Wondering how it was possible to be so happy and so sad at the same time.

Fifty-three.

WHAT A LOSER,.

THAT LAWYER.

Frank Sinatra was singing, "Bang bang, she shot me down."

"I hate this song," Steve said, punching a b.u.t.ton on the car radio.

"Wonder why," Bobby said.

"It's not that. It's just a weak song. Beneath Frank's dignity."

"Uh-huh."

They were driving the old Caddy, top down, across the MacArthur Causeway to Steve's office. Bobby sat cross-legged in the front seat, eating a flaky guava pastelito. It was a breezy winter day of picture-postcard beauty. Palm trees swayed, terns hovered over the water, and the gleaming white cruise s.h.i.+ps stood out in sharp focus at their berths.

So why am I so miserable?

He figured part of it was simply the adrenaline crash, the letdown after a battle. They'd won the headline-making murder trial. He'd won custody of Bobby. A truly joyous event, more important than any case he ever had or would have. Bobby was already talking about an upcoming fis.h.i.+ng trip with his grandfather.

But still, a feeling of emptiness crashed over Steve.

Victoria would be stopping by later to pick up her things. And then she'd be gone.

Win the case, lose the girl.

Not that he ever had her, unless you count a stolen hour on a surreal night of firelight and snow. Had it even really happened? Maybe it was all a dream.

There was no reason to feel down, he told himself. Last night, he'd paid a visit to the Barksdale home. Katrina had kissed him on the cheek and thanked him for his splendid work. Her exact words were: "You're a f.u.c.king great lawyer and you've got one fine a.s.s."

She was drinking Cristal, which she offered to Steve, and even though he considered champagne carbonated p.i.s.s, he said, sure, why not. She wore a white, ripply camisole with cabana pants that tied at the waist, or to be accurate, about several inches below her flat and suntanned belly. She kept flinging her dark hair around, repeating how f.u.c.king brilliant he was. Soon she was slurring her words, saying he was positively "edible," but probably meaning "incredible," he figured.

She handed Steve a flute of champagne and a cas.h.i.+er's check, her frozen accounts having defrosted after the charges were dismissed. Two hundred fifty thousand dollars to be split evenly with Victoria. After taxes and repaying Teresa the hundred thousand he'd borrowed, Steve figured he'd be about twenty thou in the hole. A few more victories like this, he could declare bankruptcy.

Steve asked where Manko was, and Katrina said he was preparing the boat for a trip to Bimini, just the two of them.

"You remember, I told you we were all going to go to Bimini, before Charlie croaked?"

"Sure, it was part of our defense-why would you plan a trip with Charlie a week after you were going to kill him."

"Now Chet and I are going. But not Charlie." Giggles burst from her like bubbles of champagne.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Katrina?"