Mark Gimenez - The Color of Law

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to everyone at Doubleday for making this book happen, especially Stacy Creamer, for her brilliant editing and absolute belief in this book; Tracy Zupancis, her assistant; John Fontana, for the perfect book jacket; Ellen Elchlepp, for the great catalog spread; and Maggie Carr, for her excellent copyediting; Liv and Bill Blumer at the Blumer Literary Agency, for their hard work; Barbara Boo Kiesler, for the use of her name; and Tess Edwards and Doug Gimenez, for being there.

Mark Gimenez grew up in Galveston County, Texas. Once a partner at a major Dallas firm, he gave it up in order to start his own single practice and to write. He lives outside Fort Worth with his wife and two sons.

EPILOGUE

THE GIRLS SQUEALED with delight.

Four months later, Scott was sitting in his pajamas and robe on the couch in the small house over by SMU and smiling as the girls opened their presents early on Christmas morning.

Their lives had been irrevocably changed.

This Christmas, he didnt have a wife and Boo didnt have a mother. Rebecca had left and never come back. Every few weeks, he still found Boo crying quietly in bed, and he had cried when the divorce became final. But they were both doing better now. He was sure he wouldnt marry again, despite Boos attempts at matchmaking; she said her teacher had a really big crush on him. Ms. Dawson did seem nice at carpool.

But Boo now had Pajamae and Pajamae had Boo. They attended fourth grade at Highland Park Elementary where Pajamae was the only black girl and Boo the only white girl with cornrows. They were like sisters, and would be when the adoption was final.

Scott had Bobby and Bobby had Karen and Consuela had Esteban and they were having a baby who would be an American citizen. They had married a month ago in a traditional Mexican wedding in the Cathedral Santuario de Guadalupe Catholic Church in downtown Dallas. Scott gave the bride away and Boo was her maid of honor.

Scott also had Big Charlie back in his life. He often brought his girls over to play with Boo and Pajamae. But they no longer talked about playing football in the old days; they talked about raising kids in these new days. Scott Fenney and Charles Jackson were fathers now and that was good enough.

Scott lost the state bar election to a big firm lawyer in Houston. He now practiced law with Bobby and Karen on the second floor of an old Victorian house renovated into office space and located just south of Highland Park. The Fenney Herrin Douglas law firm represented the thirty homeowners whose residences were being condemned by the city to make room for Tom Dibrells hotel; and they were preparing a class-action suit on behalf of the residents of the South Dallas projects against the city for violation of federal fair housing laws. Louis had gone door-to-door signing up residents; Scotts suddenly lofty reputation in the federal judicial system had allowed him to resolve all of Louiss outstanding issues with the Feds. Bobby still represented his regulars from the Mexican bar in East Dallas; charges against Carlos Hernandez were dropped due to prosecutorial misconduct. He was training to be a paralegal and acted as translator for their Hispanic clients. Scott wore jeans to the office, ate lunch once a week with the girls in the school cafeteria, and played hoops with Bobby and John Walker at the YMCA.

His office faced due south and offered a nice view of the downtown skyline. He could sit at his desk and see Dibrell Tower out his window. Karens ex-secretary at Ford Stevens told her that the firm would close out the year with record profits. Dan Ford sat on top of his world, perfect but for the fact that vandals had repeatedly slashed the tires of his Mercedes-Benz in the parking garage, while Sid Greenberg sat in Scotts former office, drove Scotts former Ferrari, and practiced aggressive and creative lawyering for Scotts former client.

Oddly enough, Scott felt no satisfaction when Frank Turner filed a $10 million sexual harassment lawsuit against Tom Dibrell on behalf of the blonde receptionist; or when Harry Hankin filed a divorce petition against Dibrell on behalf of Toms fourth wife alleging infidelity and seeking over $50 million in community property; or when the Environmental Protection Agency filed suit in federal court against Dibrell Property Company and Thomas J. Dibrell jointly and severally seeking $75 million in costs required for the cleanup of lead contamination on the fifty-acre tract of land located adjacent to the Trinity River.

Scott did feel relieved when Delroy Lund was arrested and charged with the murder of Clark McCall and obstruction of justice in the Shawanda Jones case; Hannah Steele agreed to testify. Mack McCall withdrew from the presidential race but was elected senate majority leader; soon after, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Ray Burns was now an Assistant U.S. Attorney in Lubbock. United States District Court Judge Samuel Buford remained on the bench in Dallas.

Right after the trial, Scott had moved Shawanda and Pajamae out of the projects and into a rent house near Highland Park. He paid for Shawandas drug rehabilitation; she fought hard and gave it all she had, but she couldnt break the hold heroin had on her. Two months after the trial, Shawanda Jones injected heroin into her right arm, drifted off to sleep, and never woke up. Pajamae missed her mama very much, but said shes in a better place now where she doesnt need her medicine to be happy. She prayed for her mother every Sunday morning when Scott took the girls to church.

Scott had begun reading a new bedtime book to the girls: To Kill a Mockingbird. They loved Boo Radley.

ONE

WHATS THE DIFFERENCE between a rattlesnake lying dead in the middle of a highway and a lawyer lying dead in the middle of a highway? He paused. There are skid marks in front of the snake.

His bar association audience responded with polite laughter and diplomatic smiles.

Why did New Jersey get all the toxic waste dumps and California get all the lawyers? He paused again. Because New Jersey had first choice.

Less laughter, fewer smiles, a scattering of nervous coughs: diplomacy was failing fast.

What do lawyers and sperm have in common? He did not pause this time. Both have a one-in-a-million chance of turning out human.

All efforts at diplomacy had ended. His audience had fallen deathly silent; a sea of stone faces stared back at him. The lawyers on the dais focused on their lunches, embarrassed by their guest speakers ill-advised attempt at humor. He looked around the crowded room, as if stunned. He turned his palms up.

Why arent you laughing? Arent those jokes funny? The public sure thinks those jokes are funny, damn funny. I cant go to a cocktail party or the country club without someone telling me a stupid lawyer joke. My friends, we are the butt of Americas favorite jokes!

He adjusted the microphone so his deep sigh was audible, but he maintained steady eye contact with the audience.

I dont think those jokes are funny, either. I didnt go to law school to be the butt of cruel jokes. I went to law school to be another Atticus Finch. To Kill a Mockingbird was my mothers favorite book and my bedtime story. Shed read a chapter each night, and when we came to the end, shed go back to the beginning and start over. Scotty, shed say, be like Atticus. Be a lawyer. Do good.

And that, my fellow members of the bar, is the fundamental question we must ask ourselves: Are we really doing good, or are we just doing really well? Are we noble guardians of the rule of law fighting for justice in America, or are we just greedy parasites using the law to suck every last dollar from society like leeches on a dying man? Are we making the world a better place, or are we just making ourselves filthy rich?