Have You Seen Luis Velez?(85)

Mr. Velez did not turn his eyes to Raymond until he had walked his client to the outer door, said his goodbyes, then closed the door behind the man.

Then he gave Raymond his full attention.

“Oh,” he said. “Uh-huh. I do remember you, yes. I came home one day to find you in my kitchen having breakfast with my wife.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t remember your name, though.”

“Raymond.”

“Well, Raymond, I’ve got exactly three minutes until my next client, unless she shows up late. So come on in and tell me what you hope I can do. And talk fast.”

Raymond followed him into his expensively decorated office. It was modern and sleek, all black leather and gleaming stainless steel. He sat in an uncomfortable chair facing Mr. Velez. The attorney sat behind his massive desk, leaning his chair back, steepling his fingers in front of his chin and staring at Raymond. Waiting for him to speak.

When Raymond didn’t open his mouth immediately, Velez jumped in.

“I know what happened,” he said. “It’s hard to escape the details of a case when the victim shares your name. Legal colleagues kept coming up to me and telling me they were so happy to hear I was still alive. I knew that must’ve been the guy you were looking for. I mean, Luis Velez. Disappeared suddenly. It just all fit.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, still lost and scared and overwhelmed for reasons he couldn’t entirely sort out.

“And the trial was a crap show.”

“Oh. So you know.”

“Yeah. Ended in acquittal. So now you’re wondering if this trigger-happy citizen just wins and gets off scot-free, or if there’s anything the law can still do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ll tell me it’s to help your friend, or to help the widow, because you’re a helpful sort of guy, but at this point you’re trying to figure out what to think about this world for your own self. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir,” he said, wishing he could say something better for a change. But Luis was right.

“There is more the law can do. Definitely. Two things right off the top of my head. There could be a federal trial in which she’s charged with depriving the victim of his civil rights. But it’s not really within our control to get somebody to charge her.”

“That seems weird,” Raymond said. “To call killing somebody depriving them of their civil rights.”

“First and most fundamental right we all have is life. But there’s a better option, in my opinion. Civil trial. The widow takes the shooter to civil court. The burden of proof is different, so it’s easier to win. It’s her money at stake, not her freedom, so that tends to make the jury less squeamish. It’s the way to go, if you’re asking my opinion. That trigger-happy woman should be putting all three of those Velez kids through a four-year university. What right does she have to sit home and spend her money while the widow struggles to raise three kids all on her own?”

“What if she doesn’t have that much money?”

“Then she can put all three kids through community college. You know the widow, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Send her in to talk to me.”

His phone buzzed, and he pressed a button, apparently for speakerphone. “Tell her I’ll be out in less than a minute, Marjorie.”

“There’s just one problem,” Raymond said, already on his feet. “I just worry about her . . .”

“Which her?”

“The widow. I’m not sure how she would . . .”

“Well, she’s obviously just flowing over with money,” Velez said, moving with Raymond toward the office door.

“No. She’s not.”

“You’re very bad at sarcasm, Raymond. I know a lady with three kids and suddenly no husband is not flowing over with money. If she was, it wouldn’t be so important to get some from Trigger Lady.”

They stood a moment at the door to the outer office. Velez had his hand on the knob.

“Are you saying you’ll help her for no money?”

“No. I’m saying I’d consider taking the case on contingency. If I lose, I get nothing. But I won’t lose. When I win, I take a percentage of what the jury awards. Have her call and make an appointment.”

Velez swung the door wide. Nodded to his next client, who sat in the outer office.

Raymond moved through the receptionist’s area. Toward the outer door.

“Hey,” he heard Luis Velez say. “Raymond.”

He stopped. Turned.

“Isn’t this Tuesday?” the attorney asked him.

“Yes. Tuesday.”

“You skipping school?”

“No, sir. It’s spring break.”

“Oh. Spring break. Late this year.”

“Yes, sir. It’s late this year.”

Raymond stepped out into the plushly carpeted hallway.

He rode down twenty-one floors alone on the elevator, still processing what had just happened to him. He had won a major victory, but he would be halfway to the subway station before he fully realized it.

It had just all happened so fast.



“Get out of those jeans,” his mother said. “I’m doing a load of colored laundry, and I need all your jeans.”