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knowing that he was the candidate chosen over thirty-one other applicants for his new position there at the firm. "Joe, everyone expects me to brighten their day. They wait with the anticipation of my next juvenile stunt, to help break up the monotony here in the office. I think they count on me." Joe gets that heated look he uses to rattle witnesses in court.
    "Listen to me, Matthew. Do not be smug with me, you arrogant bozo. You will not, shall not, pull any more of your clown routines here in this firm. Is that clear?"
    Matt tries not to smile at Joe's "tough guy" routine in the hallway. "Yes, sir. Sorry. No more bozo stunts, I promise."
    Joe cannot help but to smile at Matt's response, but he holds back as he pictures Bill and Susan, as Matt blasted them, during one of their intimate talks in the break room. "Look Matthew, you are a rising star in this firm, and I respect and appreciate you as an attorney. Don't screw that up."
    Matt nods.
    "So who is the big black guy in your office?"
    "That gentleman is Mr. Reginald Haynes, accused drug trafficker, with one minor prior arrest, who was arrested last night on several felony counts including major drug and weapons charges. He made bail on a very substantial bond early this morning. Mr. Haynes has come to us as he is one of my previous clients prior to me joining the firm here, and he is seeking representation in this more serious matter and is about to retain our services for a hundred thousand dollars."
    Joe shakes his head, recognizing how the young attorney just disarmed him and demonstrated his value in one short statement; that is why he hired him.
    "A hundred-grand retainer? Well Mr. Cohen, that is what we should be focused on, not that other nonsense. And on that note, I will just be on my way."
    Joe walks down the hall, quietly laughing.
    Matt returns to his office and closes the door behind him. "Sorry, Reggie, now where were we . . . look, they got you with four pounds of heroin, a scale, twenty-one thousand dollars in cash, two loaded firearms . . ."
    Reggie interrupts. "That's bullshit, man. I unloaded them guns before I threw them out and got rid of the clips and ammo while I was running after the crash and setting that car on fire."
    The young attorney smiles at his client's candor and responds, "Reggie, they also have you charged with felony eluding, felony reckless endangerment to the public, obstruction of justice, and arson, with six law enforcement officers testifying in unison. What exactly are you looking for me to do for you?"
    Reggie smiles at him. "I feel you, Mr. C. You're just keeping it real, and that's why I'm here man." Reggie pulls a large, zippered freezer bag out of his down parka. It has one hundred thousand dollars in it, and he tosses it on Matt's desk. "Look man, I do what I do. And I got two hundred grand that says you are going to do what you do, and do it well."
    Matt looks at his client, "That will get us started." Reggie shakes his head. "Get us started? Man, you're a trip Mr. C. That should get us more than started, that should get us past the gate."
    Matt leans forward and looks his client in his eyes. "Reggie, this case is no joke. I suspect the feds will push the state out of the way and pick up this case. So prepare for that possibility. The good news is that it will buy us the time we need to prepare, so if I take your case, you have to agree to stop all transactions with dope of any kind, and no firearms possession. Is that clear?"
    Reggie looks at the attorney. "Man, you asking a lot, Mr. C. I feel naked without a piece in my world, it's dangerous out there." Matt looks at him coldly. "Twenty years to life is dangerous too, Reggie." He considers the attorney's last comment. Reggie stands up, reaches behind him, and pulls a forty-five from his belt. He ejects the clip, then the round from the chamber, and sets them on his attorney's desk. "Okay, Mr. C. It's you and me. Anything else I need?" Matt looks at the gun on his desk,