AFTER CLEARING SECURITY AT CLARK County Detention Center, the guard escorted me to a private room reserved for attorney-client meetings.
While I waited for my next client to be brought in, I went over my case notes and organized my thoughts. This was shaping up to be another high-profile case, and there was no doubt in my mind the media would hang my client out to dry.
Emmanuel Morales was another victim of an overzealous prosecutor and shitty detective work. The kid was only twenty. He still had his whole life ahead of him, yet the public’s already skewed perception of him would justify him rotting in a cell for the remainder of it.
The only thing they saw was the pretty face of the nineteen-year-old girl who had been murdered and the man accused in bold print beside the photos. So far, the witness accounts were contradictory at best, and the evidence was circumstantial. But it didn’t matter because a neighbor swore she saw a Hispanic man lurking around the victim’s home, and that man soon took the shape of Emmanuel Morales.
Signed, sealed, delivered.
In these situations, I was almost always portrayed as the villain. But the truth was that what the public thought of me didn’t matter. What mattered was that this was the worst week of Emmanuel’s life, and he needed an ally. Not because he was a potential criminal, but because he was human, and he deserved a fair shot at justice.
When the guard brought him into the room, he looked just as terrified as the first day I met with him. He hadn’t even made it to real prison yet, and I had serious doubts about his ability to survive in here.
“Emmanuel.” I met his gaze as he sat across the table. “How are you doing?”
He shrugged, but there was a tremor in his lip when he spoke. “I don’t know. This place is kinda crazy, ya know?”
“I know,” I told him. “But you’re here, and that’s the reality of the situation. So, I’ll tell you what we’re both going to do, all right?”
He nodded.
“You’ll mind your own business. Be civilized, but not overly friendly. If someone gives you shit, you don’t react, but you don’t show weakness either. You acknowledge it, and you move on. This is the job I need you to do so I can do mine. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“If it gets too bad, you tell me. Steps can be taken to protect you if it comes down to it.”
He dipped his head. “All right.”
Sharp pain stabbed at my chest, and I doubled forward in a coughing fit that sucked the air from my lungs. I tried to be discreet as I retrieved my handkerchief and dabbed at my lips, but Emmanuel’s eyes were wide as he watched me.
“Are you okay, Mr. West?”
“I’m fine.” I tucked away the evidence that might suggest otherwise. “Just recovering from a nasty bug.”
I opened the folder and redirected the conversation to the reason I was here. Going over some of my case notes with him, I asked questions to clarify points and scribbled his answers as we went along. This would be my first of many visits with him, and I warned him from the beginning it would be tedious. Establishing a solid case took time.
“I understand.” Emmanuel looked at me with eyes that were far too young to fully comprehend anything like this situation he found himself in.
For now, we were finished, so I closed the file and stuffed it back into my briefcase. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Could you…” Emmanuel paused. “Would you be able to give my mom a letter for me? She won’t answer my calls.”
His face fractured as he admitted the truth, and even though I had witnessed this a thousand times before, it was Emmanuel’s first time having his life ripped apart.
“This happens sometimes.” I searched for empathy I didn’t often possess anymore. “It’s easy to get sucked into what the media says. What they don’t show on television is that the family becomes criminalized too.”
Emmanuel’s shoulders hunched forward. “My mom is a good person. She doesn’t deserve that. I don’t want anybody harassing her over this.”
“I’ll check on her. And I’ll give her your letter too.”
“I haven’t written it yet,” he admitted. “But I will. Maybe next time you come, I’ll have it.”
I nodded and stood, pressing the button for the guard outside. “I’ll be back next week. In the meantime, if you think of anything else that’s pertinent, let me know as soon as possible.”
The door opened, and the guard gestured me outside, but Emmanuel’s voice made me pause.
“Hey, Mr. West?”
I looked back.
“Why are you doing this for me? Why did you take me on even though I can’t pay you anything?”
As this haunting brown eyes stared back at me, it was a question I never knew how to answer, but intuition guided me to the right answer.
“Because even if nobody else does, I believe you, Emmanuel.”
The drive back to the office was long and congested at midday, and I still hadn’t eaten lunch. Hunger had evaded me for months, but I kept up a regular meal schedule regardless. Emmanuel needed me, and I had to stay focused.
Easier said than done when I walked into my office and found the tall, leggy brunette waiting for me. She wasn’t the only one either. Beside her, Ace played around on his phone while Birdie flipped through a magazine.
I wasn’t surprised to see her this soon. In all honesty, I’d expected her to show up at my door last night, demanding to have Ace removed from her presence. But it appeared as though they survived the night, just barely.
“May I have a word with you?” Gypsy asked.
“You may,” I told her as I checked my watch. “In thirty minutes, when my lunch is finished.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she planted her hands on her hips as she stood. “You must be joking.”
“I don’t joke.”
She stalked forward, stopping only when she’d breached the narrow distance that few people ever dared to try with me. She was reverting to her baser skills of seduction via proximity, but I doubted she even realized it. The instinct came naturally to her, often reeling in whatever she wanted, and admittedly, it might have worked on me too once.
She smelled of coconut oil and sunshine, and it encouraged a vivid image of her lying out on the beach. I could almost bet that if I were to touch her skin, it would be warm too. So warm that it would be easy to get lost in. She probably counted on it, but I was prepared to let Gypsy know from the start how this game would be played. Only one set of rules existed, and they were mine.
“Do you want me to throw a fit?” she threatened as her eyes darted around my office. “Because I will.”
Now that was funny. My lips tilted despite my resolve to remain dry as toast. “Do you think it would be the first time someone threw a fit in here?” I asked. “I’m sorry to tell you this, pet, but it wouldn’t.”
“It would probably be the first time someone accused you of holding them hostage in front of your employees.”
I turned and made a flippant gesture with my hands. “Be my guest.”
Her lips compressed, and any other coercions she might have entertained were swallowed bitterly. After watching her for so long, these unintelligent threats from her were a disappointment. Of course, she wouldn’t make a scene because she had more to lose than I did.
“Thirty minutes,” I repeated. “I’ll have my secretary call for you when I’m finished.”
I walked into my office and shut the door behind me.