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NO DOUBT, WHEN NAIM Butler, Esq., arrived at the Henry J. Daly Building on Indiana Avenue shortly after four that afternoon, he had no idea who Henry J. Daly was or why the nation’s police headquarters was named after him. He did have an idea, though he didn’t want to be at Henry’s and, all he wanted was to chat with his client and get out of there. He exited the elevator in the basement, assuming a cell block was there with his client locked in a cell. He passed through the metal detector and had his briefcase searched. Sitting at a worn desk was a slim wench. No more than twenty-five, Naim imagined.
“Naim Butler to see David Thurman.”
“You the lawyer?” She was the look-at-me-bitch type: so brunette, so top-heavy, so bright, so addictive that he stood up straight, poking out his chest.
Vanity, they name is man.
She was pecking away at an old phone, the tip of a pink tongue slipped from the corner of her full mouth.
I’d trade my Benz for one—Enough, he thought. That way lied the end of your well-being.
“Yes ma’am, I am the lawyer.”
After speaking into the telephone receiver, she frowned at him. “It seems that he’s not allowed visitors by anyone.” She gave that “anyone” the husky, Marilyn Monroe exhalation, arching her back, pouting.
Lord help me.
“I’m his attorney, not anyone. Who were you speaking with?” He didn’t let his brewing disbelief show.
“AUSA Brown.”
“Can you be so kind to get him on the line, again.”
“No, I cannot.”
His anger was simmering, but he remained calm. Partly because he needed to demonstrate humility, but mostly, he couldn’t yell at the lovely cop. “Ma’am, I think I told you that I am, David Thurman’s attorney. To block me from seeing him would be a gross violation of his constitutional rights. My cell phone is in my car or I’d call Brown myself.”
“Then go to your car. It’s really that simple.”
“Look—” Naim began.
“Mr. Butler?” Someone called at his back. “Shai Brown, assistant United Stated attorney. Nice to meet you. Finally. I’ve read so much about you.”
“All lies I’m sure.”
He furrowed his brows. “Come with me a second.”
Naim stood there. “Am I going to be able to see my client, David Thurman?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t infringe on his rights. But let’s get out of this corridor. We have somethings to cover.”
“Before we cover your things, I need to speak with my client. There’s no way, I would communicate anything of value to you without a talk with Mr. Thurman.”
“Sounds fair. And I’ll allow it—”
“You don’t have much of a choice.”
And let the pissing contest begin.
“But be sure to inform him this fact: Pleading guilty is his only decision necessary to avoid a trip to being one of the select few to experience being housed on the death unit at USP Terre Haute.”
“Wrong! His best decision for avoiding any Con Air trip to Indiana was hiring me.”