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I was driving to Little Pigeon Landing when the wolf made its first daytime appearance. It was the same large silver gray Arctic wolf that appears to me in dreams I've had since I tried--no I lost the Troy Maitland case. The wolf scared me at first, but now I've grown accustomed to it as it never says or does anything. It just stares. Still, it bothers me a lot.
Troy Maitland was my eighth murder case and first loss in seven years of practice. Bad luck, my string was broken. Worse for Troy, he was executed. People think the worse thing about an execution is when the switch is thrown and death rides up the body like a big black snake. That's bad, but not the worst. The worst part is when the family who has been given a full contact visit with the condemned is told it's time to leave. Suddenly the casual small talk and bored indifference to the clock turns frantic as reality sets in. This is the final goodbye. Death, that dark door we all in the end try to avoid, will be opened and closed by the State with mechanical precision in just a few hours. Words fail and love is expressed with one last desperate kiss and a hug that tries to linger forever as it will be the last one. At that moment everything changes and the doomed enterprise divides lives forever into the then and now. I am thinking about quitting the Indigent Defender's Office. Maybe I'll go into civil law where the most you can lose is money and not lives. This whole damn deal has gotten me down and what I'd really like to do is simply quit it all. That makes me scared because I've never been a quitter. Lately, however, quitting looks better and better. I share an apartment with my girlfriend, Connie, and recently my attitude has gone from cynical on the upside to suicidal depressive on the downside. I used to say to Connie and the walls, "who needs this crap," and I guess she heard me because last month she left. Her note said she cared for me and hoped that I would get help for my problem. What bullshit! The bitch runs out on me and says she "cares"--that's a good one. I'm just glad I never told her about the wolf. Today as usual, I arrived late at the office. I'm at my desk leaning back in my Sears executive chair reading an aggravated battery file when my boss, Ralph, walks up. Ralph is a failed lawyer who was appointed as head of the Indigent Defender's Program by his brother-in- law, who is a judge. He has never tried a homicide case much less a first degree murder case and I've never particularly liked him. He also gives a poor impersonation of an authority figure. As he approaches my desk, I continue to ignore him while concentrating on the aggravated battery file with renewed interest. Ralph is going through his second divorce and spends a lot of time lately watching old movies on late night television. He fixes me with what he considers his best Spencer Tracy-as-a- priest look. "Mike, I'm assigning you to the Felton Briggs case. It's another death penalty case and you've got the experience for it." His voice has the forced ring of jovial authority to it. I immediately felt my chest constrict to zero oxygen and blood rushed to my head. I can't think for a moment and I hope my face doesn't show what I'm feeling inside. I shook my head slowly. "You've got to be shitting me." |
Thomas E. Guilbeau
106 West Congress Street
P.O. Box 3331 Lafayette, LA 70502
337.232.7240 fax 337.232.7309 800.323.6120 info@thomasguilbeau.com
