Free Safer by Sean Doolittle

all this, he glances at the clock above the bailiff, shakes his head like he’s heard a good joke, and says, “Judge, I think we’d agree that it’s a bit early in the day.”
    “We would most certainly agree,” the judge says. “And you haven’t answered my question.”
    “I believe that it goes without saying—”
    “Counselor, are you, at this moment, inebriated in my court? Yes or no?”
    “Absolutely not, Your Honor.”
    At this point, the prosecutor pipes up from the other table. “Your Honor, the People can smell defense counsel from here.”
    The judge sends a warning glare toward the newest babble of laughter from the seating area. When things quiet down, she says, “The court appreciates the field report, but the People have not been called to speak.”
    “Sorry, Your Honor. The People withdraw the observation.”
    More laughter. Louder now.
    “All right, that’s enough.” There’s a crack as the judge snaps her gavel. She waits for silence, then says, “Mr. Bennett, approach the bench.”
    “Your Honor, with all due respect, I can assure the court that—”
    “Mr. Bennett, with all due respect, you are clearly stewed.”
    “Your Honor—”
    “And now you’ve lied to me.”
    “Your Honor, in no way have I—”
    “Counselor, stop digging. Your hole is deep enough.”
    Standing there in my handcuffs, watching this pileup unfold right in front of me, I wish I had a hole that was deep enough. A hole and a shovel. I’d crawl in, lie down in the bottom, hand the shovel to the guard, and ask him to cover me over. Or maybe I’d just bury Douglas Bennett.
    “Mr. Bennett, I don’t need to point out,” the judge continues, “that your client stands charged with troubling crimes. But I
will
point out that if defense counsel has attended this proceeding under the influence, the court may infer that said charges aren’t being taken seriously. In fact, the court may be apt to regard such a circumstance as frank and direct contempt.”
    “Your Honor, I’ve been a member in good standing of this state’s bar association for twenty—”
    “We joined the bar the same year, Counselor. I don’t need your background information.”
    “Well, I think that—”
    She holds up her hand, palm forward.
Save it.
After a moment, she removes her glasses and places them on the bench in front of her.
    “I’m not interested in embarrassing you, Doug. Or harming your reputation, or otherwise making a mountain out of what I choose to assume must be an isolated case of regrettable judgment on your part. But I’m not going to sit here pretending to ignore your slurred speech, either. So.” She leans back, returns her glasses to the bridge of her nose, and folds her hands again. “You can approach the bench so that I can evaluate you, or you can submit to a formal breath test, if that’s what you’d prefer. Either way, we’re not moving forward until I’m satisfied that you are fit to represent your client.”
    Douglas Bennett reacts to his choices with more silence. He looks down at the table. He’s quiet for so long that if I couldn’t see that his eyes are open, I’d suspect that he’s fallen asleep on his feet.
    At last he exhales, lifts his head, and says, “That won’t be necessary.”
    The judge nods once. “All right, then. This appearance is rescheduled for eight o’clock Monday morning. Officer, you can take Mr. Callaway—”
    “Your Honor,” I blurt without thinking. That’s not true. I’m thinking:
No no no.
“This isn’t… May I speak for myself?”
    The judge glances toward the prosecutor, who shrugs. She returns her gaze to me. “You have the right to speak for yourself, Mr. Callaway. I don’t recommend it.”
    “I’d like to speak for myself.”
    “I assume you’ve heard the one about the lawyer who had a fool for a client?”
    I’ve heard the one about the lawyer who had a fool for a client. Is there one about the client who hired a fool for a law yer? All I know