| |
D.C. JAIL
Within twenty minutes they were beyond the earshot of guards, safely encased in a conference room the size of a cell, with the door closed.
“Who in the hell did this to you?” Naim asked, bearing down on his client, reddened tip of his nose, his voice leaking venom.
To Naim, a client may be a worthless piece of shit to everyone in the world, but he was Naim’s piece of shit that was, and would remain the case.
“I don’t know his name,” Thurman said, looking at Ginger coyly, who was at the ready to pencil down his attacker’s name. “I’m sorry.”
“Why’d this happen?”
“He asked me to stop talking to another inmate,” Thurman said, lying. “Apparently you’re not allowed to talk during transport.”
“Did you see a doctor?” Ginger asked.
“They sent me to the hospital. I could hear them crafting a story about me trying to escape.” He shook his head, looking to the sky as if holding back tears. “They interrogated me over eight hours. Starting at ten at night. They shot me with truth serum. The nurse that called you, told me that. They told her to tell me that I have diabetes.”
Naim was pacing the small room digesting every word from his client. He stopped, and said, “I sent an e-mail and letter via courier to Shai Brown demanding that they not interrogate you outside of my presence.”
“He was there too. Bastard”
“Clearly out of line.”
“He referred to himself as God.”
Naim sighed. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
“On bail, you mean?” Thurman asked child-like. “They promised me bail if I cooperated with them.”
“They lied. A tactic they use all the time. They’re going to contest bail. The judge will give them that wrapped in a bow. Especially if there’s any incriminating speech on your Facebook page.”
“It’s not. Besides, they’ve drugged me.”
“And at a hearing to suppress your so-called confession we will get that thrown out. In the meantime, though, I’m going to ask that you be housed in VA or Maryland.”
“No, but, they have to be punished for tricking and drugging me.”
“He does have a point,” Ginger said. “I’m hearing all kinds of Amendment violations.”
“Is that what you hear?” Naim asked, “we can’t prove he wasn’t given insulin.”
“Yes the hell we can.” In my presidential-slogan-voice. “The nurse would testify that she was also tricked into giving me a truth serum, forcing me to give a false confession. If I even did. I don’t remember everything that I said, but I bet I said anything to get some sleep.”
“Did you or did you not kill a judge and senator?” Ginger asked, scratching her head with the tip of a pencil as if she was trying to solve a college-level algebraic equation.
“That’s irrelevant,” Naim said quickly, his bushy eyebrows reaching for his hairline. “We don’t ask clients that because the system requires prosecutors to prove that.”
“On the stand they do,” Thurman said.
“That’s where the most lies are told in the courtroom,” said Naim, smiling.
“And from the prosecutor’s table,” Ginger added. “Maybe not lies, but...”
“Alternative facts,” Naim said. “And we don’t call them lies. It’s not polite.”
“Spare me they politically correct, bullshit,” Thurman said. “They’re liars. What is our next move? Because look at my face,”—he tapped the newspaper that Naim had brought with him—“and the dumbass headlines on the cover of D.C.’s most read propaganda machine. The lying and manipulative prosecutor drugged me, coerced a confession out of me, and then artfully had the media run with his alternative renditions of the facts. That’s the real fake news.”
“They do have a media blower, but I came to D.C. with my very own media megaphone. I have to chat in-person with the nurse that called me. I wonder why she helped you?”
“I paid her twenty K.”
“Wait. What?”
“This has bribery implications written all over it.”
“But you should meet her. Nice piece of ass. You’d like her.”
“Whoa. And the language,” Naim said, rolling his eyes as if to say don’t be a total ogre in front of the lady.
“Sorry,” Thurman said, frowning. “It’s true though.” He smiled.
“One big bag of surprises is what this case is and I cannot take another,” Naim said. “Are you sure you were injected with something other than medication?”
“It wasn’t insulin, Naim why are you yelling at me?”
“I’m not,” Naim replied cautiously. “I cannot walk into a courtroom and make bold statements that turn out to be wrong though.”
“Nope, can’t do that,” Ginger said, “without Shai making him eat dog’s ass. Fur and all.”
The vivid image that Ginger had conjured up caused both men to smile.
“There’s medical records to prove otherwise, Naim. Get them I’m ready to sign any authorization to get my medical records. I’m not a damn diabetic.”