“Y ou
a lawyer?” asked the man in the gray pinstriped suit. The man in
the expensive dark blue suit sitting next to him at the bar looked
up from his drink, regarded him, and nodded.
“How’d you know?” asked the blue-suited
man.
“I guess I just recognize my own kind,” he
said. He smiled and offered a hand, his teeth so white they were
practically blinding. “I’m Perry Tinker – contract law and torts
for McDonald, Wolff, & Howland.”
The man in the blue suit extended his hand
and offered a firm shake. “Geoffrey Winters,” he said glumly.
“Ahhh, the Judge’s son! I thought you looked
familiar,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Your dad’s
always been a bit of an idol of mine. He handles his business the
right way, and I’ve always respected that.”
“Yeah, my old man is…a real piece of work
alright.”
“Yes he is. But let me ask you something. He
was on the bench during the trial of the ‘Dracula Killer’,
right?”
Geoffrey nodded his head.
“That guy was the worst of
the worst – drinking the blood of his victims and all. And I
remember your father on Court TV at the sentencing – I mean, you
could literally see the vitriol and hatred spewing from his lips as he cast that
son-of-a-bitch down with the Sodomites. But what I’m wondering is,
now that your father is in the defense business, would he take on
the case of this new serial killer – ‘The Surgeon’ – as the media
has started calling him.”
Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. “Why
wouldn’t he?”
“Well, it’s just that the guy is so
damn…evil. I heard he cuts the victims’ guts out and makes them
watch. And all that carving out their organs and stuff…,” he paused
and shuddered. “It’s just so damn sickening…I would have a hard
time defending someone like that. Knowing in the back of your mind
what the guy did and that any one of the victims could have been
someone you knew or loved…”
Geoffrey shook his head and grinned.
“Everyone is entitled to a defense. And, if they ever catch the guy
and as long as he can afford the retainer, who gives a shit,
right?”
Perry the Tort Attorney laughed and clinked
glasses with Geoffrey. His cell phone rang. He looked at the number
on the screen and turned to Geoffrey.
“Gotta take this - paying customer,” he
winked. “Nice meeting you.” The man spun and walked away from the
bar, phone to his ear, words flowing a mile a minute.
Geoffrey L. Winters III took another sip of
his expensive scotch and checked his Rolex. He huffed impatiently
and slammed the glass on the bar top. The inconsiderate bastards
were late.
Again.
“Goddamn idiots,” he muttered.
“Time is money,” his father, Judge Geoffrey
L. Winters II, had always said. And at a billable rate of five
hundred dollars per hour for his legal expertise, “Three,” as his
family called him, considered his time more valuable than just
about anyone else’s.
“Everything alright sir?” asked the
barkeeper. He was a frail, elderly man; a kind looking man with
deep-set wrinkles around his eyes and lips that symbolized a
lifetime of smiles. He wore a tidy black vest over a crisp white
shirt topped by a black bowtie – the uniform of the swanky bar’s
employees. It was one of those places that offered $15 glasses of
whiskey and had the balls to charge an additional $2 for the rocks.
The menu was filled with stuff the average Joe had never heard of,
much less could pronounce. “Barcode” was a downtown after work
hotspot for the young, rich, and hip – a trifecta of superficial
qualities that Geoffrey considered to be paramount in life.
Geoffrey raised an unenthusiastic eyebrow at
the bartender. He huffed and took a sip of his scotch.
“Why wouldn’t everything be alright?”
snapped Geoffrey.
The old man’s deeply wrinkled face sunk.
“I’m…I’m sorry sir. You appeared…agitated. Is…is there anything I
can do for you?” His old voice
a lawyer?” asked the man in the gray pinstriped suit. The man in
the expensive dark blue suit sitting next to him at the bar looked
up from his drink, regarded him, and nodded.
“How’d you know?” asked the blue-suited
man.
“I guess I just recognize my own kind,” he
said. He smiled and offered a hand, his teeth so white they were
practically blinding. “I’m Perry Tinker – contract law and torts
for McDonald, Wolff, & Howland.”
The man in the blue suit extended his hand
and offered a firm shake. “Geoffrey Winters,” he said glumly.
“Ahhh, the Judge’s son! I thought you looked
familiar,” he said. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Your dad’s
always been a bit of an idol of mine. He handles his business the
right way, and I’ve always respected that.”
“Yeah, my old man is…a real piece of work
alright.”
“Yes he is. But let me ask you something. He
was on the bench during the trial of the ‘Dracula Killer’,
right?”
Geoffrey nodded his head.
“That guy was the worst of
the worst – drinking the blood of his victims and all. And I
remember your father on Court TV at the sentencing – I mean, you
could literally see the vitriol and hatred spewing from his lips as he cast that
son-of-a-bitch down with the Sodomites. But what I’m wondering is,
now that your father is in the defense business, would he take on
the case of this new serial killer – ‘The Surgeon’ – as the media
has started calling him.”
Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. “Why
wouldn’t he?”
“Well, it’s just that the guy is so
damn…evil. I heard he cuts the victims’ guts out and makes them
watch. And all that carving out their organs and stuff…,” he paused
and shuddered. “It’s just so damn sickening…I would have a hard
time defending someone like that. Knowing in the back of your mind
what the guy did and that any one of the victims could have been
someone you knew or loved…”
Geoffrey shook his head and grinned.
“Everyone is entitled to a defense. And, if they ever catch the guy
and as long as he can afford the retainer, who gives a shit,
right?”
Perry the Tort Attorney laughed and clinked
glasses with Geoffrey. His cell phone rang. He looked at the number
on the screen and turned to Geoffrey.
“Gotta take this - paying customer,” he
winked. “Nice meeting you.” The man spun and walked away from the
bar, phone to his ear, words flowing a mile a minute.
Geoffrey L. Winters III took another sip of
his expensive scotch and checked his Rolex. He huffed impatiently
and slammed the glass on the bar top. The inconsiderate bastards
were late.
Again.
“Goddamn idiots,” he muttered.
“Time is money,” his father, Judge Geoffrey
L. Winters II, had always said. And at a billable rate of five
hundred dollars per hour for his legal expertise, “Three,” as his
family called him, considered his time more valuable than just
about anyone else’s.
“Everything alright sir?” asked the
barkeeper. He was a frail, elderly man; a kind looking man with
deep-set wrinkles around his eyes and lips that symbolized a
lifetime of smiles. He wore a tidy black vest over a crisp white
shirt topped by a black bowtie – the uniform of the swanky bar’s
employees. It was one of those places that offered $15 glasses of
whiskey and had the balls to charge an additional $2 for the rocks.
The menu was filled with stuff the average Joe had never heard of,
much less could pronounce. “Barcode” was a downtown after work
hotspot for the young, rich, and hip – a trifecta of superficial
qualities that Geoffrey considered to be paramount in life.
Geoffrey raised an unenthusiastic eyebrow at
the bartender. He huffed and took a sip of his scotch.
“Why wouldn’t everything be alright?”
snapped Geoffrey.
The old man’s deeply wrinkled face sunk.
“I’m…I’m sorry sir. You appeared…agitated. Is…is there anything I
can do for you?” His old voice
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