My heart feels as if it's going to leap out of my chest at the mere mention of his name. There was a vow he made to me many, many years ago, and even then, I knew he'd keep his it. I never thought the revenge would take this form; I never thought he would bring someone else's life into our animosity.
I dress quickly, barely taking time to make sure I look presentable. I would never admit this to anyone, but I'm afraid of Jared's capabilities. Maybe I should clarify that statement, I'm afraid of the power he holds at this moment.
"Hey, Miss Delgado," Jazz says, staring into her computer. "Your messages are on your desk."
"Thank you."
"And a courior dropped something off for you. It's from Mrs. Carpenter."
"Thanks."
I stop and observe Jazz for a few moments. She has a good sense of people; I often ask her how she feels about certain people who come to the office and her instincts are never off. It is really an interesting thing to watch, how she, as she says, "takes in a person's vibrations." I let her go with it, let her instincts tell me the truth, when I don't have enough faith in my own.
"Jazz, you remember that guy, Jared, who called yesterday?"
"M-hm."
"What's your impression of him?"
Still staring at the computer she says, "Jared, hmm, he's a fucking…pardon my French…prick whose mission in life is to make everyone around him as miserable as he is. Why?"
"I just wanted a second opinion, that's all."
"Well, you better watch out for him, if you ask me."
"Thanks," I say, walking away from her in somewhat of a daze. If she can sense his danger in only a conversation, what exactly is he capable of? I exhale, wrapping myself in my office's cocoon.
I know his immediate plan, which is to destroy me through my client. He is going to use this innocent kid as a pawn in his game of revenge. How do I stop him? I think the first thing to do is to attack his credibility.
When I am in a state of thinking, I tend to focus more intently on the things around me. For instance, the pile of mail on my desk, if I stare hard enough, looks like an accordion and in my mind's eye, I am a player of that instrument. My eyes sort of lose their ability to just see what is immediately in front of me, choosing instead to see the possibilities of shapes and sizes and textures. That is when my eyes are drawn to the courier package that Viki sent. What better tool is there than the press?
My hands work frantically to open the envelope which could very well hold the key to winning this case. I read the article with the eye of a publisher, ensuring that it's sympathetic enough for my client without seeming too preachy. Once satisfied, I call Viki.
"Hi, Viki, it's Tea."
"Tea, it's wonderful to hear your voice. How are you feeling?"
"I'm having a good day," I answer, knowing that I am speaking the truth. "I received your package today."
"And, what do you think? I'm very anxious to hear your thoughts."
"It's excellent, but I have something else I want to run past you."
"Go ahead."
I will not tell her the truth; I will tell her what she needs to know about the case. Then, she will make the decision of where to go next. I am confident that she will take it upon herself to go after the prosecutor in this case. It's not manipulation on my part, not exactly; it's more of a case-presenting opportunity. I will simply tell her about Derek's transfer and she will do the rest. There, that's a pretty easy solution.
"Derek was transferred last night."
She gasps on the other end and takes a deep, calming breath. "What happened?" she asks gently."
"Well, he called yesterday, in a panic and I knew something had happened. Apparently, he was the guards tried to…well…you know, and there were no witnesses. This happened, ironically enough, just as a new prosecutor was assigned to his case."
"What?"
"Yes. As you can see, there have been quite a few developments over the past twenty-four hours."
"Did they give you a reason for the sudden switch?"
"No, none at all."
Viki stays silent while she processes the things I have just shared with her. When she speaks again, there is a tinge of anger in her voice. "I know you're a lawyer, and a very good one at that, but sometimes I just don't understand this legal system." She sighs, and then asks, "Tea, are you going to contest this move, or are you just going to let it stand?"
"Well, I do have a problem with the new prosecutor."
"Oh?"
"We go way back; let's just say there's no love lost between us."
"So, you think this could be a personal vendetta?"
"That's a distinct possibility."
Viki and I end our conversation shortly thereafter. I know she has some of the same questions I have, most of them dealing with the possibility of even getting a fair trial in this city. Cops protect each other; there's that impenetrable blue shield which is not a myth in this town, it's a legend.
I take my medicine like a good patient, grumbling with every tasteless swallow. I'm not sure if it's working, or if it's psychosomatic, but I do feel a slightly better, certainly much better than I did jus twenty-four hours ago. Although, it could just be that it really is working and I really am getting better. It's best not to get my hopes up because I know too well how quickly things can change.
The rest of my day is sort of a blur; I suppose that's because of the tears which blurred my vision. I went to see Derek in his new facility. I wasn't prepared for the vision that stood before me and claimed to be the client whom I'd been representing for the past several months.
His eyes were blackened; the unmistakable imprint of an out of control fist marred his smooth, chocolate beauty. His lips were swollen; the salty blood still caked in its corner. There were three broken ribs, said the in-house doctor. And the emotional wounds, well, they were too numerous to count.
There was no investigation. There were no eye witnesses. Even Derek wouldn't say exactly what had happened; the most I could get from him was a nod when I asked if this was a warning from "them."
My heart is broken for him; I am a helpless person with nothing more than a law degree. It used to represent everything to me, but being involved on a case of this magnitude in such a racially charged area, I can't help but become frustrated by the career path that I have chosen. More than anything, I hate the feeling of being helpless and that's exactly what I am.
There are several ways to deal with people like Jared; not all of them are legal. I took an oath to uphold the law and, as painful as that may be sometimes, I will abide by those binding words. What I did not promise, is to always play fair. This is a game that is won and lost by minds that are able to bend and re-shape themselves and the law.
I am reminded of my first meeting with Jared, it was fifteen years ago. I was the rebellious teenager, doing any and everything to gain the attention of those around me. He was the cocky brain, a chameleon changing his colors by the minute. I remember getting a bad feeling right from the start, thinking this boy is not someone I want in my sphere. Yet there he was, right next to me, staring at me as if he had plans of devouring me.
He was the aggressor; I the elusive prey. He called me. He showed up everywhere I was, claiming it was just a "coincidence." After awhile, I could sense his presence; the temperature around me would drop about twenty degrees. I knew I had to stay away from him, even then, but our lives became so entangled that I didn't know where he ended and I began.
As we prepare to meet each other in the courtroom, I am slightly afraid. I wonder if Rachel knows what's going on, or if I should be the one to finally break the promise and let her in on our secret. She has discovered love for the first time in her life; I see the change in her, and I'd hate to be the one to snatch it all away. I sigh aloud, wondering why my life has suddenly become so much more difficult; so much more of a mess.
I need to spend time with someone, so I decide it's time to call Mariam. I feel bad sometimes that I have so much and she has so little, but she never complains. She makes the most of what she has and I can tell she is truly a happy person.
"Hello?" she answers, completely out of breath, but that's the way she always is. There is never a dull, restful moment in the full life which she leads.
"Hey, girl. What're you doing?"
"Just finished gettin' my nails done; now I'm 'bout to get on uptown."
"What's up there?"
"Shit, girl there's an electronics boutique and they havin' a three hour sale. I need to get me a new TV. Some of us gotta catch sales when we can."
"Yeah."
"What's up, girl? You sound like you 'bout to lose it or somethin'." She pauses, as if she's thinking carefully about her next words. "What'd he do?"
"Who?"
"That man who got you all messed up."
I smile, only she and I knowing to what extent I will allow a man to rule me. Past tense, I think would be better used. Those days are long gone; I am my own woman now, though sometimes, it is difficult to see. "No man has got me all messed up."
"Um hm," she says, her voice filled with skepticism. "You can come along and talk about that guy who doesn't have you all messed up."
