Page 14 of Fade Out
“Your honor, previous employment is not something that should be considered. We’re here about a murder—”
“Mr. Lovejoy, what’s the name of your firm?”
I was sunk, of course. Cooke, Babcock and Lackerby were well known for representing Jimmy English and a number of other career criminals. The judge would be well aware of that. No matter the evidence, I was not going to escape the suggestion of guilt my defense brought to the table. That was a shame. I thought I had the judge on my side for a moment there.
“All right, all right, I’ve heard enough,” the judge said. “Bond is set at one million dollars.”
Owen said, “Thank you, your honor.” Although for what I had no idea. I didn’t have ten percent of a million: a hundred thousand dollars. Jesus Christ. That meant I was going to be stuck in Cook County Jail until I took a plea bargain or went to trial. And, if and when I went to trial I’d be paying an attorneyandan investigator. Life was getting suckier by the minute.
The bailiff led me back to the lockup I’d been in before. I didn’t see any guards on the other side so I sat down on the bench. I was going to have to make some decisions and probably fairly soon. Did I want to keep Owen Lovejoy, Esquire, as my attorney? No. I didn’t. Did I want to find a new attorney? No. I didn’t want to do that either. So, which no did I want to say yes to? Honestly, it was just easier to accept Owen’s help. I didn’t relish the idea of sitting at a payphone calling strangers and asking them to help me.
He was going to have to find me an investigator, someone who’d do what I told them. I had no idea who that might be. Owen might have some suggestions. Since he was here, I wondered if he’d try to arrange a meeting with me. Probably not a bad idea to get some of these things ironed out.
“1025.”
I looked up and saw the guard standing there. Time to go back to my cell. He opened the lockup and let me out. Then he went over to the shelves and picked up my plastic bag. He handed it to me and said, “Sorry, you’re gonna have to change here. I’m not walking you back over to your cell and then bringing you over here again.”
“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“You got bond. It’s time to get dressed and get the fuck out of here.”
I quickly got out of the jail garb—to a couple of catcalls from the prisoners in the lockups—and put on my own clothes. I took my wallet, my keys and my money out of the smaller bag and shoved them into my pockets. Then the guard led me out a door, down a narrow hallway through another door, and into the lobby outside bond court.
Owen sat on a bench on the other side of the lobby. I walked over. “I don’t understand.”
“You made bond.”
“You paid my bond?”
“No, dear, they don’t let lawyers do that. Some kind of conflict of interest thingy.”
“So how did it get paid?”
“I had a blank check. All I had to do was fill in the amount.”
“Whose check was it?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”
I shook my head. “Attorney-client privilege. Are you having déjà vu? Because I certainly am.”
Our falling out had to do with his keeping secrets from me on the Jimmy English case. He’d pretty much kept me in the dark the whole time. He claimed attorney-client privilege. I didn’t like it. “You’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me. I don’t work for you.”
“You just represented me in court.”
“I work for the people who paid me.”
“You can’t represent me against my will.”
“Are you really going to turn down a free lawyer? You’re facing a murder charge. You do have some idea how expensive that can get, don’t you?”
I did.
“Reach into your pocket and give me a dollar.”
“So I can fire you?”
