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.
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