"I still can't believe you called me in here at 8:00 PM," said Pete, flipping through
the police report. "This is a no-brainer. It could've waited."
"He was carrying on something fierce, Pete. Said he needed a lawyer now."
Pete sighed. He looked at the lean, muscular lines of Jamieson and his scarred
hands. "You think I'm safe with him?"
The big deputy puffed out his chest. "I'll be right here."
When Pete entered the cell Jamieson looked up, his pale green eyes dripping
with desperation. Pete stuck out his hand. "Pete Lancaster. I'll be your lawyer. I'm
getting you out of here."
Jamieson took his hand in a grip that felt like a steel vise lined with sandpaper.
"Thank you Mr. Lancaster," he rumbled. He looked and sounded like the actor, Sam
Elliot. After a terrible bender. Old tears formed pale channels like streams across his
dirty face. "I really appreciate you coming in." He pumped Pete's hand with the
strength of a hydraulic press.
Pete extricated his hand with difficulty and sat on the opposite bench. "Mr.
Jones, you look awful worried, but don't. These charges are minor and one is just
stupid. I'll have you out in two, three days max."
Fresh tears boiled in his eyes. "That's not soon enough, Mr. Lancaster!"
"Pete. Call me Pete. There's procedures to follow, and that's about the fastest it
can happen."
"No, no. You don't understand."
"What? Family emergency? Job interview?"
"No, it's… it's hard to explain."
"Well try. I'm your lawyer. The more I understand, the better I can help you."