2

Like Mark, Todd Lucero was inspired to become a lawyer by booze-tinted conversations he’d overheard in a bar. For the past three years, he had been mixing drinks at the Old Red Cat, a pub-style watering hole favored by students from GW and Foggy Bottom. After college at Frostburg State, he’d left Baltimore and drifted into D.C. in search of a career. Finding none, he hired on at the Old Red Cat as a part-timer and soon realized he had a fondness for pulling pints and mixing strong drinks. He’d come to love the pub life and had a gift for schmoozing with the serious drinkers while placating the rowdies. Todd was everybody’s favorite bartender and was on a first-name basis with hundreds of his regulars.

Many times over the past two and a half years he had thought of quitting law school to pursue his dream of owning his own bar. His father, though, had strong opinions to the contrary. Mr. Lucero was a cop in Baltimore and had always pushed his son to obtain a professional degree. Pushing was one thing, but paying for it was something else. And so Todd had fallen into the same trap of borrowing easy money and handing it over to the greedy folks at FBLS.

He and Mark Frazier had met the first day, during orientation, back when they were both starry-eyed and envisioning big law careers with fat salaries, back when they, along with 350 others, were horribly naive. He vowed to quit after his first year, but his father yelled at him. Because of his commitment to the bar, he had never found the time to knock on doors around D.C. and hustle for summer internships. He vowed to quit after his second year and cut off the flow of debt, but his loan counselor strongly advised against it. As long as he was in school he did not have to confront some brutal repayment schedule, so it made perfect sense to keep borrowing in order to graduate and find one of those lucrative jobs that, in theory, would eventually take care of the debts. Now, though, with only one semester to go, he knew only too well such jobs did not exist.

If only he’d borrowed $195,000 from a bank and opened his bar. He could be printing money and enjoying life.

MARK ENTERED THE Old Red Cat just after dark and took his favorite place at the end of the bar. He fist-bumped Todd and said, “Good to see you, man.”

“You too,” Todd said as he slid over a frosty mug of light beer. With his seniority, Todd could comp anyone he damn well pleased, and Mark had not paid in years.

With the students away, the place was quiet. Todd leaned on his elbows and asked, “So what are you up to?”

“Well, I’ve spent the afternoon at dear old Ness Skelton, in the copy room sorting papers that no one will ever read. More stupid work. Even the paralegals look down their noses at me. I hate the place and I haven’t even been hired yet.”

“Still no contract?”

“None, and the picture gets fuzzier every day.”

Todd took a quick sip from his mug stashed under the counter. Even with his seniority, he wasn’t supposed to drink on the job, but his boss wasn’t in. He asked, “So how was Christmas around the Frazier house?”

“Ho, ho, ho. I lasted ten miserable days and got the hell out. You?”

“Three days, then duty called and I came back to work. How’s Louie?”

“Still seriously indicted, still looking at real jail time. I should feel sorry for him but compassion runs thin for a guy who sleeps half the day and spends the other half on the sofa watching Judge Judy and bitching about his ankle monitor. My poor mom.”

“You’re pretty hard on him.”

“Not hard enough. That’s his problem. No one’s ever been hard on Louie. He got caught with pot when he was thirteen, blamed it on a friend, and of course my parents rushed to his defense. He’s never been held accountable. Until now.”

“Bummer, man. I can’t imagine having a brother in prison.”

“Yeah, it sucks. I just wish I could help him but there’s no way.”

“I won’t even ask about your dad.”

“Didn’t see him and didn’t hear from him. Not even a card. He’s fifty years old and the proud papa of a three-year-old, so I guess he played Santa Claus. Laid out a bunch of toys under the tree, smiled like an idiot when the kid came down the stairs squealing. What a rat.”

Two coeds walked to the bar and Todd left to serve them. Mark pulled out his phone and checked his messages.

When Todd returned, he asked, “Have you seen any grades yet?”

“No. Who cares? We’re all top students.” Grades at Foggy Bottom were a joke. It was imperative that the school’s graduates finish with sparkling résumés, and to that end the professors passed out As and Bs like cheap candy. No one flunked out of FBLS. So, of course, this had created a culture of rather listless studying, which, of course, killed any chance of competitive learning. A bunch of mediocre students became even more mediocre. No wonder the bar exam was such a challenge. Mark added, “And you really can’t expect a bunch of overpaid professors to grade exams during the holidays, can you?”

Todd took another sip, leaned even closer, and said, “We have a bigger problem.”

“Gordy?”

“Gordy.”

“I was afraid of that. I’ve texted and tried to call but his phone’s turned off. What’s going on?”

“It’s bad,” Todd said. “Evidently, he went home for Christmas and spent his time fighting with Brenda. She wants a big church wedding with a thousand people. Gordy doesn’t want to get married. Her mother has a lot to say. His mother is not speaking to her mother and the whole thing is blowing up.”

“They’re getting married May 15, Todd. As I recall, you and I signed on as groomsmen.”

“Well, don’t bet on it. He’s already back in town and off his meds. Zola stopped by this afternoon and gave me the heads-up.”

“What meds?”

“It’s a long story.”

“What meds?”

“He’s bipolar, Mark. Diagnosed a few years back.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would I kid about this? He’s bipolar and Zola says he’s off his medication.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell us?”

“I can’t answer that.”

Mark took a long drink of beer and shook his head. He asked, “Zola’s back already?”

“Yes, evidently she and Gordy hurried back for a few days of fun and games, though I’m not sure they’re having much fun. She thinks he quit his meds about a month ago when we were studying for finals. One day he’s manic and bouncing off the walls; then he’s in a stupor after sipping tequila and smoking weed. He’s talking crazy, says he wants to quit school and run off to Jamaica, with Zola of course. She thinks he might do something stupid and hurt himself.”

“Gordy is stupid. He’s engaged to his high school sweetheart, a real cutie who happens to have money, and now he’s shacking up with an African girl whose parents and brothers are in this country without the benefit of those immigration papers everyone is talking about. Yes, the boy is stupid.”

“Gordy’s in trouble, Mark. He’s been sliding for several weeks and he needs our help.”

Mark pushed his beer away, but only a few inches, and clasped his hands behind his head. “As if we don’t have enough to worry about. How, exactly, are we supposed to help?”

“You tell me. She’s trying to keep an eye on him and she wants us to come over tonight.”

Mark started laughing and took another sip.

“What’s so funny?” Todd asked.

“Nothing, but can you imagine the scandal in Martinsburg, West Virginia, if word got out that Gordon Tanner, whose father is a church deacon and whose fiancée is the daughter of a prominent doctor, lost his mind and quit law school to run off to Jamaica with an African Muslim?”

“I can almost see the humor.”

“Well, try harder. It’s a scream.” But the laughter had stopped. “Look, Todd, we can’t make him take his meds. If we tried to he’d kick both our asses.”

“He needs our help, Mark. I get off at nine tonight and we’re going over.”

A man in a nice suit sat at the bar and Todd walked over to take his order. Mark sipped his beer and sank into an even deeper funk.