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JUDICIARY SQUARE, WASHINGTON, D.C.—Georgetown Law Center
Established in 1870, Georgetown University Law School was the second largest law school in the United States and received the most full-time applications per year. The school had been moved away from the main campus to Judiciary Square, a neighborhood in Northwest Washington D.C. The area was heavily occupied by various federal and municipal courthouses and office buildings. The center of the neighborhood housed an actual plaza named Judiciary Square, and was serviced by the Red Line of the Washington Metro. They drove past the District of Columbia City Hall and the Federal Bureau of Investigation Washington field office, before parking in the front of the Georgetown University Law Center.
Entering the library’s lobby, Brandy and Naim, approached a security desk, stated their business and was directed to an administrative office. A library clerk verified their permission to enter the library and took their photo before providing them with plastic IDs with the word TEMPORARY on it.
Brandy Scott sat in the law library at a computer station logged into the Lexis-Nexis electronic law library system. Her boyfriend, the lawyer, was beside her on his own computer on his second cup of coffee. Their equal pursuit of justice provided fertilizer for their relationship to grow. There was no shouting or violence between them, just an underlying knowledge that they loved each other more today than they did the day before. Brandy was wrapped up in her work, researching the procedural history leading to Jullian Thurman’s continued imprisonment. Naim was obsessed with studying the Federal Rules of Criminal Procedure as it pertained to the capital murder of a Supreme Court justice. Despite David Thurman’s pissy attitude, Naim patiently awaited his call as promised. Divorce from the murder trial of the decade wasn’t in the cards. Naim wasn’t the kind of person who’d quit something so paramount to his branding easily.
The newspaper editor and lawyer looked over at each other, smiled, both agog over their effort to do their jobs while offering their partner smiles of confidence. They were determined to prove their willingness to meet each other halfway. Naim was proving to be a polished, flawed man, who had cleaned up his act. What he’d been through and his strength to get to where he was, had not been lost on her. Things was easy for them and she believed they’d stay that way. He was turned on by watching her avariciously devour the law. He was also turned on by the fact that she was a good-looking, brilliant woman who made him happy. She was a news editor who had a very flexible schedule, a boon for him. They were seriously dating without any negatives. He was determined to assure that no complaining started. All of Naim’s life he’d been getting the raw end of the deal and finally things were bright and optimistic.
“You know,” he said, “I’m not sure if that monster is out killing right now. That’s a sickening visual.”
“You don’t say,” Brandy replied. “And he has a good reason. At least from his own twisted, demonic perspective. His wife really had a hard time in the courts. The bulk of her sentence was not for her conduct, but the conduct of the conspirators. Many of whom she didn’t even know.”
“How so?” he asked, pushing back in his seat, looking at her screen.
“Federal law disparately treats equal weights of powder and crack cocaine, that you know.”
“I do. Whites use powder, blacks use crack and really affects the lives of black families sending dealers away for absurd mandatory minimums. Some for life. For crying out loud there are murderer’s that don’t get life.” His voice was passionately rising.
“I hear you, but the opposition will say that dealers subject addicts to a lifetime of addiction and misery, which is cruel and unusual punishment, so life for a drug dealer doesn’t seem odd. Or violate the Eighth Amendment.”
“True, but this topic has reached the Supreme Court and has been debated in Congress. The disparity is unwarranted between powder and crack. Cocaine remains cocaine even in a dress and pumps.”
She batted her eyes and stared at him. A blank sneer crept onto her face.
“What?” he asked, smiling conspiratorially.
“Something just dawned on me,” she replied, clicking the mouse, and searching again.
“What?’ he asked, inching closer to her. He dropped his arm around her shoulders.
“Despite reaching the Supreme Court the disparity hasn’t been struck down as unconstitutional. And, do you know why, counselor?”
“Nope, but I’m sure you’re going to school me.”
“I am. Three words: Chief Justice Weston,” she said, pointing at the screen.
Naim’s shoulders sagged. “Weston and the liberals blocked the ratio between crack and cocaine being one to one.”
“A move that would have drastically reduced the sentences of people sentenced for possessing crack. Including one, Jillian Turman.”
“You should be a lawyer.”
“No,” Brandy said, “I should be in the business of informing the people of what they’re up against.”
“And, let me guess...You plan to do that?”
She kissed his lips, and said, “How’d you guess?”