FiFty Fifty

Chaptet Fourty - Six

EDDIE

'We know the journal is a fake. We just have to prove it,' I said.
The red blotches on Sofia's face looked raw and angry. Her eyelids were swollen, along with the skin around them. She hadn't stopped shaking all day.
I'd called a friend, got Sofia something to level her out.
The Valium was taking her down a notch. Straightening her out of a hyper-
tense state. At least she could speak now. She could breathe more easily. The panic had stopped choking her.
Sofia looked back into her apartment, and Harry was closing her blinds, checking the doors, making sure the place was secure. 'Eddie, tell me straight – am I going to jail?' she asked.
'No,' I said. Right then, it felt like a lie. 'You'll be fine. Put on one of those old black and white movies you like so much. Order in. Harry and I need to work tonight. We need to concentrate and we won't be able to do that if we're worrying about you.'
Sofia rushed forward, letting go of the door. She threw her arms around my waist, her head rested on my chest. I was surprised by this, and at first I didn't know what I should do. Then I put my arms around her, and patted her on the back, told her things would be okay.
She let go, thanked me, and Harry came out of the apartment into the hallway.
'Don't worry, sweetheart, this guy is the best trial lawyer I've ever seen. He's not as good as me, he's not perfect, but he's pretty damn good,' said Harry.
'How can I be in second place to you if I'm the best trial lawyer you've even seen?' I asked.
'Well, I've never seen myself. How could I?'
For a second. A split second. A smile appeared on Sofia's face as Harry and I argued good-naturedly.
'Thank you,' she said, and closed the door.
I followed Harry to the elevator. We got in, and before the doors closed I asked, 'Do you think you got everything?'
'I got the kitchen knife, and a pack of razors from the bathroom.'
He opened his jacket. Sofia's kitchen knife was secreted in his inside pocket. 'We've done everything we can. She'll be okay. We just have to figure out
 
how we're going to win this,' said Harry.
The 2nd Avenue Deli is no longer on 2nd Avenue. Hasn't been since 2006 when
the landlord and the owners couldn't come to an agreement. The restaurant moved to East 33rd and 3rd Avenue, and New York moved with them. Abe Lebewohl, an immigrant to New York, had worked his way up from busboy to counterman in a deli on East 10th Street, and finally opened his own place in 1954. Abe loved food, people and New York City. Everybody loved Abe. He was murdered on the street in 1996, on his way to the bank with the cash from the restaurant's takings. New York mourned him, and family took over the business.
I first came here with my mom and dad when I was a kid. When Abe put a pastrami sandwich in front of me that was bigger than my head, and took time to talk to my family and get to know us, I knew I would always come back.
I went upstairs to the second floor. Harry had reserved a booth in the back corner. When I arrived, Kate, Bloch and Harry were all seated. There was an empty chair at the corner of the booth for our fifth guest. She hadn't arrived yet. I sat down beside Harry, Kate and Bloch opposite.
'I'm sorry, Kate,' I said. 'We expected this, and it would've been a shock to me too, but we talked about it. Alexandra is trying to frame Sofia. That journal is dynamite to this jury.'
She was nibbling at a bowl of French fries, her head down. Bloch drank coffee and Harry had a beer. There was a heaviness in the air. A weight that sat on all of us.
'I just didn't think it was Alexandra,' said Kate. 'But it has to be. She's the only one that benefits from this. I watched the jury – they ate up Sylvia Sagrada. They believed every word. You should've seen how they looked at Sofia. With hatred. Jeez, I'm sorry too. Your client is innocent. I can't be a part of putting her away ... I just ...'
Elbows on the table, Kate's fingers massaged her temples. She was going through hell. She'd given up her career in a firm to go out and defend a woman she believed to be innocent. Now, everything had changed. Her first case turned out to be a nightmare. Representing a murderer. And no matter what the cost to her, I knew Kate wouldn't set a killer free. She was here, which meant she would help if she could. She hadn't yet been crucified by that numbing code of ethics that keeps lawyers sane and out of jail – you don't speculate over your client's innocence, you don't ask if they're guilty, you do your job and the jury decides. Lawyers get asked it all the time – how can you represent someone you know is guilty? Our job tells us never to ask about guilt, never to put ourselves into a position where we question our client's guilt or innocence – we just put forward