Italian wingtips clak across state linoleum.

Edgar had his head on the table. The cuffs still hurt and were now connected to a loop holding him here in this tight room that they wouldn't let him out of. It'd been hours.

A practised double windsor, resting on a dress shirt with an exorbitant thread count, bounces with a confident gait.

They had him. They kept talking about Mexico, but he'd brought this coke across from Texas. Just because he was Latino they thought he was Mexican? This was fucked. Kept talking about how the Feds would turn him inside out. They all knew they had him. They pulled all the bags out right in front of him. Maybe he should just--

The door opened. In walked a blonde man, with a crisp suit and a swagger all his own.

"Hey, I'm Banjo de León fro--"

"No frickin' way you're Latino, man..."

Banjo blinked twice.

"--and with that I think we can put a heavy line through 'Incompetency to stand trial'. Yes, you're very astute."

He rounded the table and put his case on the floor.

"As I was saying... I'm Banjo de León from 'de León, Alvarez, Prescott and Attorneys', now whilst--"

"Whoa... name partner." Edgar was surprised that he'd received this kind of attention.

"I'm not a name partner." He replied, going through the motions of a conversation he'd had all too many times already.

"Your father, then?" Edgar assumed. They always assume.

"My wife, as it bloody happens. But you couldn't afford her, mate. So you're stuck with me if you'll have me. Now... as I was trying to say, 'de León, Alvarez, Prescott and Attorneys' we're not generally known for criminal defense. We're known as a civil rights law firm by reputation. I, however, am entirely focused on criminal defense within our firm, and I assure you I am the best you'll find. Unless you want to take your chances on the crapshoot that is the Public Defenders Office." He produced a small box of business cards and slid one across the table top.

Edgar scooped the card up in both cuffed hands like it was a communion wafer, and clung to it like a life preserver. "How-- how much is this going to cost me..?"

"Well, since we're a civil rights law firm, a lot of what I do is actually pro bono work. Which means--"

"You mean you'll work for free..?!"

"Well... on occasion, the judge can occasionally determine that pro bono counsel be renumerated by the state for some or all of our costs if we win in a really over the top fashion, in which case, you wouldn't see THAT money. But yeah. That won't be you. No costs up front."

"Oh thank God, man! They've real--" Banjo silenced him with a hand gesture and "Ah!"

"These rooms are all mic-ed up." He explained.

"Wait, they can do that? You're my lawyer, man?!"

"Well, I'm pleased to hear that." He said as he removed the standard forms and pen from his case, to lay on the table in front of Edgar, before closing the case back up. "And yeah, it wouldn't be admissible in a court room, because of privilege, which you're right to refer to. But anyone listening in might still be tempted to use that for lines of invstigation, and then mysteriously the audio for the room goes missing orrrr they claim it was never recording at the time. You get what I'm saying? So let's not tempt fate, mate. These people are already screwing you to the wall, let's not offer to buy them dinner."

"They're-- they're screwing me?"

"That'd be my bet. Let me guess, they got you in here, started talking about how you were seen driving up from the Mexican border, all of a sudden the Feds are getting mentioned...?

"Yea-- yeah, man! That's exactly what they did!"

"Figures... Trafficking - WHICH NO ONE IS SAYING YOU EVEN DID - is a second degree felony." He raised his voice for Edgar's benefit, having mentioned the mics. It was covered by privilege and meant nothing, but the client wouldn't actually SEE him fighting for him for a while yet, and it was important to make sure they maintain that belief in their lawyer always being on their side. Always fighting. Relentless. "First charge is nine years... unless they can tie you to bringing it in from south of the border. Then it jumps to Federal and they can nail you for twenty years. Stronger negotiating position."

"Those-- those muthafuckas!" He hurriedly signed the paperwork.

"Yeah. Yeah, I hear a lot of that." He took the paperwork back and put it back in his case.

"So... so what do we do from here?"

"Well, I have your casefile, from here I'm going to go down to the ADA's office and see what kind of offer I get out of them."

"Wait-- wait, we're, we're taking a plea..?"

Banjo said nothing but gave a look of pity across the table that all but said "Mate, they hauled bag after bag of cocaine out of your car directly in front of you."

A few beats passed before he eventually spoke. "I'm just going to hear their offer. I wouldn't - and for that matter can't - accept their offer without talking to you first. At this stage it's all a negotiating process anyway. That's why they're trying to find ways to make YOU think they can up the penalty. We have our own investigators to look into this stuff as well. But the negotiations, I'm good at this. They'll need to change their pants after they see me coming."

"You're-- You are good, right? Promise?" Banjo looked into Edgar's desperate eyes.

Banjo smiled back warmly.

"Mate, I somehow managed to talk the best woman I've ever known into marrying me, and all it cost me was taking her name. And given when we met, I didn't have one of me own... I think I made a pretty good deal."

He got to his feet and walked to the door.

"I'll level though... she maaaaaay have been a little sweet on opposing counsel. But it won't matter. You'll see."

And with that he was gone.

The newest Assistant District Attorney stepped out of court, and down the corridor after a fine morning session. He looked over and found himself walking next to a blonde man in a fine tailored suit. Defense attorney. Had to be.

"Hey, I'm Banjo de León fro--"

"Ah, the Martinez case, right?"

"That's right."

"The guy who just saw us pull all his coke out of--"

"Not all facts are yet in evidence. Oh, and feel free to drop an 'allegedly' in there at any point in time." Banjo kept a closed mouthed smile.

"You're right. They're not yet in evidence. The coke has been seized... and I then get to enter it all - as a few people bring it in, and dump it all down on that little table, piled high - as evidence in front of a jury. I am new here, but I'm pretty sure that's how it works." The ADA didn't keep his smile closed-mouthed at all. Flashed a wide grin. Like a predator.

"If it need get that far..." Banjo said. "Now it is my client's first offense..."

"And a very interesting choice of crime for your client to make for his first offense, driving drugs in from Mexico..."

"Again... allegedly... and to be honest I'd even be careful saying that much..."

"Oh yes, and why would that be the case?"

Banjo stopped, and thought for a moment. "I'm gonna tell you a story... There was this young couple of newlyweds, named Rachel and Diego." The young ADA stopped in his tracks as Banjo had in the hallway of the courthouse, tucking himself against a wall to avoid foot-traffic and hustle and bustle. "Anyway, Rachel and Diego had always dreamed of owning their own home and had mamnaged to achieve it. Proper sized home as they wanted, but on the outskirts, near the Wienerschnitzel by the on-ramp for the Forty... even then the payments were choking them off pretty tight..."

The ADA's foot was tapping, this was dragging and going nowhere and he had places to be, he had other trial work coming up that day, and a full tray of work awaiting him back at the office.

"Anyway, when they wanted to build up a big Megamart Mall on the outskirts they were trying to buy up a lot of cheap properties by whatever means necessary to add to the development, provide additional parking, you know the drill... anyway, the people at the Megamart Mall were getting, well, let's say aggressive with their dealings. Making day-to-day life very difficult for Rachel and Diego. There were threats. People were stealing their mail... which happened to include a one-off bumper fee and due date for said fee on their home loan. More threats. Diego had to put up cameras outside his house. Those cameras got smashed. Had to re-install hidden, and recessed cameras that couldn't be so easily destroyed."

The ADA's patience was left a thread. "Alright, what's the moral of the story. Slow and steady wins the race?"

"What? No. This wasn't-- This wasn't an analogy. I know Rachel and Diego. Good people. I helped them save their house, we proved that payment was missed because of that mail theft - a Federal offense, and they send my wife and I Christmas cards every year. This wasn't that kind of story."

The ADA was incensed, he was wasting his time. "Then what?! What was the point of any of this?!"

"The point was. I know Rachel and Diego. Nice people. We get along well. And if I were to have pulled the footage on the video cameras he still has from his property and told you that you can see a very familiar sedan driving up the Forty, at the time consistent with my client's story and absolutely no clear evidence to support the baseless theory that he was driving up from Mexico, what would you say?"

The pallor dropped from the ADA's face.

"We--"

"My guess is 'Oh!', because there's not much else to be said beyond that, really. Which takes me back to before when I said '--and I'd be careful even saying that much.' Because your filed paperwork is already Doo-de-doo-de-doo-de-doo--" He mimed a walking figure up to the Judge's office with his fingers. "--well and truly on it's way to the Judge. I'm guessing you were trying to put pressure on me as some kind of power move right there, don't really care. But at this point it's something you'd have to walk back if we proceed to trial. Walking back what will likely be seen as a bad faith effort to tack on years to a plea agreement."

"Well, now that's not really a fair asse--" The ADA spoke up with half-hearted faux outrage at the attack on his character.

"Not a fair assessment? So your plan was... what... to go to trial claiming before a judge and a local jury of his peers that Edgar Martinez was hauling a load of drugs from Mexico via... what... Amarillo? Would be interesting to watch. Particularly from my vantage point on the defence bench."

"Fine... Three years."

"Really? I was thinking one."

"One year?!? He had a trunk full of cocaine!"

"Ohhhhhh that's because you're still thinking about this as about Edgar Martinez. No, no, no. I was thinking you were negotiating with... some kind of concern for self-preservation and your own career. See, because if you go up there before a judge with this, WHEN I make you walk back your cynical play here, that's going to affect how the judge sees a new ADA who hasn't really prosecuted anything in this state. Well, first impressions are a very valuable thing in our profession. I'm saying one year and letting you buy yours back."

"Two years." The young ADA threw out in a blurted counter.

"I said one year. And I didn't stutter. If I were in the mood for haggling Id have said six months and let you walk me back to a year. No. One year. And I still have to convince my client to take the deal."

The young Assistant District Attorney seethed and considered his options. "How the Hell am I supposed to swing one year with our office."

"You tell them the full story. All of it. And they'll get it. Hell, might even think you dodged a bullet." Banjo flashed a quick leer. "Either way, it's not my problem and it's not Edgar Martinez's."

He considered. "I'll take it to my office."

"Really, you're gonna crowd source this?" Banjo chuckled like he'd just been told a wry joke.

"I'm not going to let some slick little asshole defense attorney push me into making an unmakable deal." He hissed at him in frustration. "If I CAN swing one year, for a watertight case with a trunk full of cocaine, without being strung up I will call you back and you can tell your client."

Banjo's grin remained glued to his face. He enjoyed this part of the process far too much.

"You have until close of business, Prosecutor." He turned and left him in the hallway. "I'll go talk to my client, but I wouldn't drag my feet if I were you."

"A year?!? I don't get it, I thought you said you had a clean bust, clear case."

"I do. But--"

The younger Assistant District Attorney was following an older colleague around the office whilst he made stops at various desks and the photocopier.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Well, it's this slimeball defense attorney..."

"Isn't it always..."

"Says he's got evidence to walk back the charge for crossing the Mexican border..."

"So drop the Fed charge."

"Yeah, but I papered the charge. It's already gone to the judge. He says when he makes me walk it back he's going to dress me down in front of the judge, with his stupid shitbag accent..."

The older man stopped in his tracks and his neck straightened up.

"Wait-- accent..?"

"Yeah, it's weird. He's got this Mexican name, which he even mispronounces with this stupid accent from like, Britain, or Austra--"

"Banjo de Leon..? Fuck that. Take the opportunity he gave you. Call him back, he'll drop it to six months. Doesn't matter. Take the plea." The older man turned and faced him, and actually got animated with his advice. His hands a quick flurry of gestures, before he went back to what he'd previously been doing.

"Wait, what--? What happened to clean bust, clear case?"

"Don't care. You're not ready for the kind of buzzsaw you're staring down. Hell, you don't even have the sense to realize that's what you're looking at. Not this early in your career, you don't want any of that. Make him plead it out. Shit, three months if it gets you out of that woodchipper." He handed back paperwork to someone working behind a desk, and moved on, before noticing the younger man wasn't still following.

The young ADA had stopped in his tracks, barely able to believe what he was hearing. He snorted derisively.

"What?" The elser statesman of the prosecution asked.

"You're scared of him. Make it sound like he should be wearing a cape. Acting like he's Superman or something."

"I am scared of him. For you. You've nowhere near the level of experience necessary to be dealing with this guy, ESPECIALLY with a case that looks open and shut from the outside. This guy will embarrass you. And he's not Superman..." With an 'onwards' nod of his head he gestured for the new ADA to keep walking.

"...Superman has a moral code." He finished after the younger man was once again by his side.

"He's more like-- I dunno-- Nineties Michael Jordan. You don't give him any reason to be pissed off. Hope he tries to sleepwalk his way to a breezy twenty-five... thirty-five points... and then hope you can sneak up on him and steal a game here and there where he's not looking. In your case... Make him plead it out. Build your career around him until you're established. Hope you catch him on a breezy day later once your reputation is solid."

"I did call him an asshole. I think my exact words were, 'some slick little asshole defense attorney'..."

"Or you could kick the hornet's nest and call him an asshole..." He looked up to the sky as if he couldn't believe the stupidity of the younger man.

"It's a car full of cocaine, though..."

"It's a two-bit driver, with no apparent connection to his higher ups. The actual dealers or cartel will replace him by the end of... well this sentence. They'd have already replaced him."

"You want me to take the plea bargain?"

"I think it would be best if you did. And I'll explain it up the chain. You wouldn't be the only one to have dodged him early. But a lot of the people who didn't-- don't work here anymore. So, your choice."

"Yeah. Alright."

The older man still sensed resistance. "Look... how old are you?"

"I'm twenty eight."

"Exactly, you're twenty eight. And how many other Assistant District Attorneys are operating in major US cities under the age of thirty five?"

"And how am I supposed to know that?"

The older man raised his eyebrows, refusing to give that response any dignity whatsoever. The young wunderkind ADA from New York city who had moved to New Mexico to be the youngest operating ADA in any major city in the country, had a clipped article framed at his workspace. Playing dumb did not impress him at all.

"Alright, none. What's your point?" He admitted his knowledge.

"My point is, you moved here to get that put on your resume, and presumably when you move back in five or ten years--"

"I'm not--!"

"I didn't interview you. I'm not your boss, and I'm not stupid. For what its worth, they're not either." He pointed to the closed door of the District Attorney's office. "You moved here short term for your career. I'm not mad. Not even disappointed. So let's be straight here. You got offered an ADA gig at a ridiculously young age in an attempt to lure a high-potential, high-profile young prosecutor down here. They get your talents however long you stay, you get the resume plaudits, until you hit a high profile enough case that gets New York looking in this direction... at which point the resume speaks for itself, and they bring you back as an ADA to New York. And you've shaved ten to fifteen years off your waiting period - Youngest ADA in New York is about twenty years older than you right now, I believe. And because of your added years of experience in the role, quickly put yourself in the frontrunning position of District Attorney successor over enough time as well. Yes?"

He'd checked pretty much every box of his career plan that he'd mapped out.

"..."

"I'll take that as a 'Yes' or at least a 'Close enough'. Well, what you don't realise is, this guy... he's the guy who derails all of that. This is the heavy puncher that the young boxer ducks early in his career, because you're in no way ready to deal with this, so that you can go on to be the Heavyweight champ one day. Maybe you take him on later, maybe you don't. But you sure as Hell don't make that fight today."

"Why are you so worried that this guy's going to beat me?"

"I'm not worried he's going to beat you. Any one of these attorney's could suddenly have a good day, evidence drops in their lap, a witness disintegrates on the stand, a good session turns one way one day. You're going to get beaten by one of them one of these days."

"Then why?"

"Because you care about your career, about your reputation, and this guy isn't just going to beat you. He's going to embarrass you. If you get on the wrong side of this guy and set foot in that courtroom, he's going to dance around on you and make it look like you don't even belong up there."

"And what would you do, when you were my age, if you had someone your age coming at you telling you to get this guy to plead it out, to less than a year for a trunk full of coke."

"Me? Oh, I'd take it to trial." The older man said in a matter-of-fact way.

"Ex-ACKT--!"

"But then I have no problem with being an Assistant District Attorney in Albuquerque at age fifty three... I'm right where I want to be."

The younger man stopped in his tracks.

"Alright, alright... I get your point. I'll get him to plead it out."

"Good luck. Hope he lets you out."

"Wait-- What?" This whole thing was only sounding worse by the minute.

"Well, you did call the man an asshole. And he can be... competitive."

"So? The man has a client."

"He does. But if he thinks he can beat you, he will voice as much to the client. As much hardball as you think he's playing in plea agreement, this isn't what he does. He's a trial attorney. That isn't because he's incapable of being convincing..."