The Chinese Jars by William Gordon Page B

Day-Timer on his thigh, the ruby in his pinky ring gave off a glint from the fluorescent light above. This messed up his whole morning calendar. Now he’d have to wait until the end of the hearing. He whispered something in Rafael’s ear and reminded the judge, “I’m scheduled to appear in departments 15, 16 and 17, Your Honor.”
    â€œThat’s okay. We’ll see you back here at eleven. The defendant’s not going anywhere.”
    Rafael was shuffled back to the holding cell in cuffs and shackles, and Hiram walked quickly through the swinging gate doors that separated the working part of the courtroom from the audience. He motioned to Samuel to follow him out into the hall.
    â€œThat guy’s a smart-ass Mexican,” he complained.
    â€œHe’s a friend of mine,” said Samuel, “and Melba wants him out of jail. That’s why she sent me here and why she retained you.”
    â€œI’m only a lawyer, not a magician,” Hiram said. His jowls hung over the high, stiffly starched collar of his white shirt. His gold cufflinks matched the tie tack. Samuel felt a wave of dislike for him.
    â€œIt’s hard to deal with smart-ass Mexicans. They make my job a lot harder even when they can afford me. This is a kiss-ass business. Melba paid me a lot of money to get this prick off, but he wants to know every fucking detail about what goes on around him, and I don’t have time for that shit. You go and talk to that greaser and tell him how things are in this town. Mexicans are in last place, along with the queers. It’s the Jews, the Irish, and the Italians that run it, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
    â€œCalm down,” Samuel interrupted. “He’s a good kid. You know I won’t be able to talk to him until court is over. Just get his bail reduced so we can get him out.”
    â€œThat’s not going to be easy, not now. Don’t you see, he’s questioning the judge’s authority, and he’s not one of the boys. He may have fucked himself,” said Hiram.
    â€œI’ll straighten him out. You get him a bail hearing. We have good character witnesses. He’s a hard-working citizen and not a flight risk,” said Samuel.
    â€œI gotta go. See ya at eleven,” said Hiram, and he waddled down the hall.
    Putting his hand on the swinging outer door, Samuel yelled at him, “How ’bout buying an ad in my paper? I’m busting my ass to sell slots. You look like a guy with a lot of dough!”
    â€œJesus Christ, man, you know lawyers can’t advertise in this state,” replied Hiram, over his shoulder, as he disappeared into another courtroom, the door flapping behind him.
    When Hiram returned at eleven, Rafael’s bail hearing was set by the court for the following Thursday at two-thirty.
    * * *
    When court next convened in Rafael’s case, Hiram Goldberg entered with a large entourage. There was Melba; her daughter, Blanche; Rafael’s mother, brother, and his two sisters; Sofia; the parish priest; and Samuel. They were all prepared to testify what a good and reliable person he was, following Hiram’s carefully scripted preparation of each of them.
    The judge called the court to order, and the clerk called the case.
    â€œBail is presently set at five thousand dollars. Mr. Garcia is accused of having a stolen X-ray machine in his possession worth over ten thousand dollars. Why should the people reduce his bail?” asked the judge, squinting at the defendant.
    â€œFor several reasons,” answered Hiram, rising heavily to his feet. “In the first place, the state has absolutely no proof he stole the machine. The most the D.A. can say is that he was in the vicinity of the machine when the police arrived.”
    â€œYour Honor,” interrupted the assistant district attorney, who stood up from his place at the table next to the podium where Hiram was lecturing the court. He had the