Page 47 of The 1 Lawyer

Mason was determined to convince me of the wisdom of his choice. Lifting his martini glass from the icy surface of the bar, he said, “This is exactly what you need tonight, Stafford Lee. You’ve been sitting in a courtroom listening to people talk about death for a week. We’re going to hear some music, see some good-looking cocktail waitresses.” Nodding to the right, he said, “Check that one out.”

A young blond woman strutted by; she was wearing a red bustier top over a skimpy slit skirt. She gave me a friendly smile as she passed.

As I lifted my beer to take a swallow, Mason looked over my shoulder and said in a low voice, “Old man Caro at nine o’clock.”

Hiram Caro seized my arm and swung me around. Instinctively, I tried to back away, but he pulled me into a bear hug. I stood there, stunned, with the unpredictable old dude’s face pressed into my jacket. Even after he broke the embrace, his hands gripped my shoulders. Warily, I watched his eyes. I was surprised I didn’t have a knife between my shoulder blades.

But the man wore a grin big enough to display all his capped teeth. “Stafford Lee, I didn’t have the chance to properly convey my appreciation at the courthouse earlier. You did a hell of a good job for my son. Hell of a good job.”

Joey Roman stood to the side at a respectful distance. His presence reminded me that on several occasions in the past week, Hiram Caro had forcefully opined that my performance was subpar. But Hiram had apparently forgotten about that. He said, “Stafford Lee, you’re the guest of the casino tonight. Dinner is on the house whenever you’re ready. Anything you want, it’s yours! Hey, boys, how about some free play?”

Mason perked up. “That sounds great, Mr. Caro. Doesn’t it, Stafford Lee?”

It didn’t sound so great to me. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary,” I said.

“I insist.” Caro turned to Roman. “Joey, contact the players’ club. I want Stafford Lee and his friend set up with chips and slot play. I think a thousand dollars each could get them started.”

That was a shocker. Next thing I knew, we had shiny players’ cards loaded with credit and house chips weighing down our pockets. Mason charged through the crowd, heading for the tables. As I followed, he looked over his shoulder. “We’re going to play Texas Hold’em. I feel lucky!”

Mason’s feelings were right—he was lucky. We joined a Texas Hold’em table, and Mason was dealt trips on his very first hand. Two rounds later, he got a full house. As soon as the dealer turned over the winning card, Mason pumped his fist in the air. “Damn—look at that! I got a boat!”

The shouting at our table got so loud, it attracted the attention of the blond cocktail waitress who’d caught Mason’s eye earlier. Mason was a good tipper—when he was winning. I switched to Jack Daniel’s Black Label, because why not? It was Hiram Caro’s liquor.

It was a good thing I was playing on the house because the dealer tossed me one losing hand after another while I swilled that good Tennessee whiskey to dull the pain. When the dealer shuffled a new deck of cards, the blond waitress set a fresh whiskey beside me, a drink I hadn’t ordered.

She gave me a grin. “Mr. Caro said you had a big day today. We’re supposed to make sure you have a fun night.”

“Great.” I looked at my hole cards. Finally, a pair of aces. I placed my bet.

The waitress lingered, standing by my shoulder. “I saw that case on the news. You must be a real good lawyer. You’re, like, pretty famous around here.”

Famous for letting murderers walk?

She remained in the spot beside my chair, clutching her tray. “You’re totally a VIP at the casino tonight. Anything you want, just let me know.”

Something in me snapped. I glanced at her and said, “Go away.”

She recoiled. Wearing a baffled look, she said, “What? Huh?”

I didn’t bother to lower my voice. “Leave me alone. I’m not interested.” And then I tossed a five-dollar chip on her tray.

Her face hardened as she picked up the chip. “You’re rude. You’re mean, and I will go away. You can get your own drinks from the bar.” She threw the chip back at me. It bounced off the table and fell to the floor.

She left, and I saw Mason staring at me. He looked perturbed. “Damn, Stafford Lee. That was rude. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

I didn’t know how to answer, but I didn’t want to spend my night at a casino celebrating with a stranger—even a pretty one. I had a wife at home; despite our current rift, that hadn’t changed. Thinking about Carrie Ann sparked a longing to talk to her. I wanted to hear her voice.

Studying my lowball glass, I calculated. Carrie Ann had never been receptive to a drunk-dial, and I’d been consuming Jack Daniel’s steadily for an hour or more. Still, I didn’t think I was too far gone to make the call.

The dealer beat my hand again. Wearing an unapologetic expression, she swept my wager off the felt tabletop.

Mason was organizing his impressive pile of poker chips by color. When I pushed my chair away from the table, he looked up in alarm. “Where are you going? I’m on a hot streak here.”

“I’ll check on you later. I’m taking a break.” I didn’t tell him why. He could assume it was due to my run of bad luck.

The casino was loud, with bells ringing from scores of slot machines. At the far end of the casino, I found a relatively quiet spot—the nonsmoking section of a high-limits room. The space was nearly empty.

I sat in the farthest corner of the room, pulled out my phone, and dialed Carrie Ann. When it went to voice mail, I hung up. I slipped the phone into my pocket and sat there for a minute, thinking. I decided that I shouldn’t give up. Maybe she was in the kitchen or the bathroom or maybe she’d left her phone in her purse. I’d give it another try.

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