| |
THE SUN WAS BARELY down, but Naim’s day had already been darkened. Back at the hotel suite, he laid on the sofa with his head rested on Brandy’s lap. Her delicate hands massaged his temples to counter a massive migraine. They awaited dinner from room service, but he had wanted to go out for supper. That morning, he had learned that his client was on the front page of a newspaper by way of room service. He no longer wanted their services. In fact, he wanted to be in New York consoling his son, and out of Washington coddling a bona fide murderer. A mass murderer. A lunatic.
On the television: “New York Senator Mac Donald, the Democratic presidential nominee had been recorded at a fundraising event calling the Republican nominee, Donna Lincoln unhinged and temperamentally unfit to be in command of the nuclear codes. This is undoubtedly unprecedented for a nominee to talk so recklessly about another candidate. The name calling is bizarre.”
Brandy said, “Can you believe this? Your guy, Mac Donald, had better be careful. The more he bashes her, the more people may tune him out. He’s attacking her mental health to be president. Bashing a woman will not work, even if a political foe.”
“The last thing I want to hear about is mental health,” Naim said, covering his face with two hands. “I’m disgusted. How’d I get myself into this?”
“Naim, he’s crazy. Must be. A jury has to buy that. The people that he killed alone makes in clearly crazy. No sane person would do that no matter how angry they are with the politician.”
“But I don’t buy it.”
“You don’t have too. All you have to do is sell it.”
“Easy for you to say. I’m the lawyer. You’re the reporter.”
“Hence, you don’t have a conscious. You’re blind like Lady Justice. She’s blind as...Insert any cliche.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. You’re a very smart man. You fought hard to be a lawyer. Getting guilty people off is a line written on your doctorate diploma in imaginary ink. I read it myself.”
“That is not true.”
“Now it seems you’re delusional. Or in the words of MacDonald: Unfit.”
“The hell I am.”
“Not literally, but, if not, what’s the problem?”
“You’re oversimplifying this, Brandy.”
“I’m not. They have to prove his guilt. I was outside of that senator’s home. They’re not certain if the judge’s and senator’s home were hit by the same idiot. What if he didn’t kill either?”
“He did it.” Disbelief. He sat up and tossed his head back.
“And again, that’s not your problem. They have to prove that.”
“That’s not fair justice.”
“Now I’m scared. That doesn’t exist. Nor does fairness. Perhaps, I’ve miss judge you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Naim, black folks have been railroaded so frequently for so long its high time the country has a wake-up call. If I recall you were outraged weeks ago because a jury hung in a case where a white cop shot a black man running away from him six times in the back and ass. There was a video for Christ’s sake. Consider Thurman as payback.”
“News flash, he’s white. The judge and senator were black.”
“Skin color only matters to mask the retribution. Them two cock-suckers had bailed out of the black race forty years ago. You heard the room service woman this morning. Some people are celebrating the judge’s death.”
“I can’t believe that I’m hearing this from you.”
“You love me for being different. Tonight, you’ve learned how truly different I am,” she said, listening to a knock at the door. “Dinner is here. Let’s eat, rest up, and then hit a go-go club. It’ll be fun.”
“I’ll get it,” Naim chirped and jumped up from the sofa. Walking to the suite’s door, he was shaking his head.
Naim opened the door and before him stood, Sinia Love.
Naim didn’t flinch. True legal canons were so polite.
“Hi there,” Sinia said, waltzing—uninvited—into the room gliding on water, flapping her lashes like feather dusters. Shifting her purse to her left shoulder, she held out her right hand in Brandy’s face, and said, “So nice to meet you, Brandy.”
Room service had struck again.