Free Trial & Error by Paul Levine

to toss you off the train unless you can get me to switch tracks, Counselor.”
    “A defendant is entitled to counsel of his choice,” Steve began. “I’ve been retained by Gerald Nash. Obviously, this situation is delicate because the prosecutor is both my law partner and…”
    He paused, apparently searching for a word.
    And what, smooth talker?
    “Playmate,” he concluded.
    Victoria bristled. “I’m no one’s playmate, Your Honor. Mr. Solomon and I live together. Currently.”
    “If y’all are shacked up, Mr. Solomon, how you gonna try a case against each other?”
    “Precisely, Your Honor,” Victoria said. “The only question is, whom shall Your Honor require to withdraw?”
    “Yes,
whom
?” Steve echoed in his smart-aleck tone.
    “Mr. Solomon must withdraw. He was present at the crime scene and apprehended Gerald Nash,” Victoria said. “He’s a witness.”
    Steve loosened the knot on his alligator tie. “A witness to an uncontradicted fact. My nephew saw Mr. Nash. So did Wade Grisby. So did the cops.”
    “Irrelevant, Your Honor. Mr. Solomon can’t be both a witness and defense counsel.”
    “Bogus argument, Judge. We’ll stipulate to my client’s presence at the scene.”
    “Don’t call my arguments bogus,” Victoria snapped.
    “Bogus, bogus. Hocus-pocus.”
    You can’t taunt me into losing my cool. Not anymore.
    “Your Honor,” Victoria said, calmly, “the case of State versus Linsenmeyer settled this issue. I’ve prepared a brief on the point.”
    “Lemme see it.” Gridley grabbed his long-billed engineer’s hat and yelled, “All a-b-b-b-board!” He hit a switch on a console, and a model train started chugging from his desk to the conference table. A classic engine, the Florida East Coast Railway Warbonnet, a scale model of the diesel that a half century ago transported the Gator football team to Jacksonville for the annual game against Georgia.
    The train pulled to a stop in front of Victoria, who placed her memorandum on a flatbed car. The whistle tooted, white smoke billowed from a tiny stack, and the train
clickety-clack
ed to the end of the table, where it passed through a tunnel.
    “You got a countermemo?” the judge asked Steve as the train emerged from the tunnel and made a slow turn in his direction.
    “No, sir. I rely on common sense, the Common Law, and Your Honor’s own uncommon wisdom.” Now he was humming the fight song, “The Orange and the Blue.”
    The Warbonnet sped past Steve, tooting twice, spewing a trickle of smoke.
    When the train pulled to a stop, the judge grabbed the document, scanned it, and said, “Ms. Lord is right on the law. I’m sorry, Mr. Solomon, but without some contrary precedent, the conductor’s gonna have to toss you off the train somewhere around Ocala.”
    “Judge, just because I didn’t brief the point doesn’t mean I don’t have precedent. I’d cite the case of Florida State versus Clemson.”
    What case? What damn case is that?
    “Also Florida State versus Auburn.”
    What the hell is Steve talking about?
    The judge cocked his head and murmured a soft
“Hmmm.”
He picked up a miniature brush and dusted off a freight car. “Bobby and Tommy and Terry. Hadn’t thought of that.”
    Bobby and Tommy and Terry?
    “When those sumbitches play,” the judge continued, “you got father against sons. You get it, Ms. Lord?”
    “Not exactly, Your Honor.”
    “Bobby Bowden coaches those dog-ass Seminoles, known in these parts as the Criminoles. His son Tommy coaches Clemson and son Terry used to coach Auburn. If a father and son can coach against each other, why the heck can’t you two oppose each other in court?” Judicial wisdom glittered in His Honor’s eye.
    “But a football game isn’t a murder trial,” Victoria protested.
    “Damn right. Football’s
bigger.
This courthouse sees hundreds of murder trials a year. But something like Florida State versus Clemson…well, that only happens once a year.”
    Victoria was