a/n: A legal thriller deserves a disclaimer, so here it is: This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and locations portrayed in this story are either products of my imagination or are used fictitiously. I have taken liberties with the layout of the Bronx courthouse and its procedures. Nothing in this story should be taken as legal advice.

And now, "May it please the Court..."

Chapter 1: Preliminary Statement

The Bronx County Courthouse is odd. It lacks the traditional architectural elements of the American judiciary, the Grecian moldings and leafy capitals of the Manhattan courts. Instead, its sheer, stark, limestone walls give the unnerving appearance of a colossal (but monochrome) Rubik's cube. Its windows are arrayed in the deep, vertical lines of an Art Deco grille, stretching nine stories from the foundations to the roof. On every side, austere porticoes shroud its entrances in shadow. Stern stone statues guard it, and their sightless eyes hold no irises, as though the Damned defend it like sphinxes protecting a tomb.

Its vista conjured goosebumps on Roberto Ortiz's forearms despite the August heat. His dread was only a superstition, an old man's conscience seeking his providence at the courthouse door—but his heart withered under the statues' condemning stare.

He hastened up the limestone steps, through a brass revolving door, and into an intimidating lobby of vaulted ceilings and rich, caramel marble. Not even his footsteps dared disturb the silence. His lawyer had said to meet her on the fifth floor. Simple enough, yet Ortiz discovered that the courthouse was a confounding labyrinth, with several lobbies, each with its own bank of elevators, and every floor twisted around a central, colonnaded rotunda. And there was a mysterious mezzanine, accessible only to the judges and their clerks. Five stories above the busy streets, Ortiz passed three more elevator banks before realizing that he was back where he'd started. The florescent lights whined overhead while he shuffled along the vacant hallway lost, alone, and afraid. He sat on a wooden bench across from a courtroom's double doors, and his numb, shaking fingers dug into his pocket for his rosary.

A short time later, he heard an arriving elevator's hollow ping, rapid footsteps, and then a blonde woman in a suit hurried towards him. She hefted her messenger bag off of her shoulder and onto the floor by his bench. "Are you Mr. Ortiz?"

Ortiz nodded and forced his tense lips to smile.

"I'm Christine Dale. Your lawyer can't make it today, and I'm filling in. Are you ready to testify?"

The blond-haired, blue-eyed woman looked much younger (and more innocent) than the hardened, senior attorney who had handled his case until then. His smile fell before he realized it, and he answered her with a disconsolate, are-you-kidding-me stare.

Her heart fell with his sinking resolve. "Don't worry," she advised Ortiz—and herself. She wore a delicate chain around her neck with a heavy, bronze locket the size of a pocket watch, and she clutched it like a life preserver. "It'll be just like you practiced with Carlotta Contreras. This kind of hearing is routine." (But she'd never conducted such a proceeding on her own. It was just her luck that Carlotta had called in sick that morning!)

She heaved open the massive double doors and led him through a short vestibule and into a courtroom dimly lit and menacing in its grandeur. Cheerless chandeliers cast spidery shadows on dark, walnut-paneled walls. Grim lawyers sat in a gallery of benches that imitated pews in a cathedral —but instead of the altar and crucifix, two tables stood before a raised desk, behind which the judge's empty chair resembled an aged, black throne. Scrolled wood ornamented the high back, and battered, crimson leather padded the seat.

A placard on the desk was engraved with the name Hon. Erik R. Delgado.

Christine's nerves were trembling. Jumping. Flying.

Dancing.

Not because the name on the placard surprised her (Judge Delgado had presided over court on the fifth floor since before she'd begun practicing law), but because she knew that the name belonged to an uncommon man, infamous for his unconventional decisions—and for his unsettling countenance—

A shadow passed before her, and all motion within her froze. The judge had arrived in his usual style, slipping into the courtroom without the bailiff ordering everyone to rise.

Even without the bailiff, the lawyers unfolded from their seats.

Ortiz tightened his grip on his rosary. Beneath large, hollow eyes, Judge Delgado's face twisted with pale scars like crooked licks of flame along his tan skin. His thin, bruise-colored lips wrenched in a perpetual grimace on his right side. His hair was heavily salted with gray (Ortiz guessed the judge was in his mid-fifties), and each strand stuck straight out of his head in every direction as though he experimented with electricity.

To draw attention away from his face, the judge had pinned to his lapel a blood-red rose. Many lawyers had lost their train of thought while concentrating on that talisman of terror.

The jurist's appearance gave Ortiz no comfort.

Judge Delgado surveyed the courtroom with eyes like slate: gray, impenetrable, and frigid. When his glare found Christine, she thought he smiled—but then he took his seat somberly, and the clerk called the first case.

The case wasn't Christine's; she and Ortiz returned to their seats. To pass the time, she opened Carlotta's file to prepare for the hearing.

But as soon as she opened the file, another shade passed over her. Jake Ratner, an aggressive, middle-aged attorney (and her adversary in Ortiz's case), had answered the clerk's call and approached the judge's bench. A young black man followed, his eyes on his shoes and his shoulders hunched despite his youth. Ratner was suing him. He had no lawyer.

As the two men gave their names to the court reporter, Judge Delgado donned horn-rimmed glasses and scanned his clerk's memorandum. At last he spoke, enunciating each word in a slow, deliberate cadence while the court reporter transcribed:

"Welcome, Mr. Washington," he said to the young black man. "Welcome back, Mr. Ratner. Your defendant already offered to resolve this matter by paying his overdue utility bills in installments, but here you are."

Like gravel under silk, there was no mistaking the judge's impatience, though he voiced his remark scarcely louder than a sigh.

"Correct, Your Honor," Ratner replied. "That's why we're asking for judgment in our favor. Mr. Washington admits he owes the money."

"Well, isn't that convenient for you." Delgado flashed a sardonic smile before continuing to peruse the file.

"Uh, Y-Your Honor? Can... can I explain somethin'?" Washington wrung a faded newsboy cap in such violent twists that Christine worried he might tear the hat in two.

Delgado removed his glasses and gestured for him to continue.

"I lost my job 'bout a year ago, but now I'm workin' two jobs. The credit cards, well, they all gave payment plans so I can get back on track. I thought these guys'd do the same, but instead I get a summons. I want to pay—I just need a payment plan. But they said I gotta pay it all now or they'll shut off my electricity. I don't have the money!"

Judge Delgado listened to Washington's distressing account with an icy poker face. In the festering silence that followed, he steepled his fingers against his dusky lips and examined the two litigants: Ratner folded his arms across his chest like a man on an easy stroll; Washington huddled in his threadbare sport coat as if braced for a blast of wind.

Both men studied the judge's corsage with riveted focus.

Neglecting Carlotta's notes, Christine offered up a prayer for Washington. If he lost his hearing, he would lose not only his lights, but he'd likely see his wages garnished or his bank account frozen. Her client Ortiz faced similar consequences if she lost his hearing, too.

Judge Delgado cleared his throat. "Mr. Ratner, my courtroom is not the place for profiteering." He sneered as he pronounced the word, as though it hurt his teeth. "Even if I granted your judgment, your client might recover the money gradually, over several months—as Mr. Washington already proposed. Your client only wants a judgment so it can collect the judicial nine percent interest in addition to the debt. But I will not reward your client for wasting my time."

This last statement descended like a thunderhead over Ratner, who straightened his tie and swallowed.

"So here's what I'll do," the judge continued. "First, I'm adjourning this hearing for sixty days, to give Mr. Washington time to get a pro bono attorney." He looked directly at Christine when he mentioned a free lawyer, his dark eyes like two black holes with their own gravity.

What did he want from her? This wasn't her case!

She should have felt uncomfortable, but she was so relieved for Washington that she smiled back at the judge.

That broke the spell; Delgado quickly looked away. Wearing his glasses again, he consulted the calendar on his cellphone. "Second, and while the hearing is adjourned, I want the utility company to negotiate genuinely with Mr. Washington for repayment of his debt. Otherwise, Mr. Ratner, you'll have to explain to the court why his offers were unacceptable."

Washington clapped his hands together as if in prayer. "Thank you, Your Honor!"

"But Judge," shouted Ratner, flailing his arms, "the defendant shouldn't get special treatment just because he's unrepresented. He hasn't paid! He's still a deadbeat."

"Excuse me?" Delgado leaned over his desk and glared at Ratner over the rims of his spectacles. His smoky stare now flashed black fire, and his scars were vivid strikes of lightning against his darkening countenance. "I shouldn't have to remind you, Counselor, that no one passes judgment in my court but me."

Ratner dared to look the judge in the eyes. His glance quickly fell to the red rose.

Scowling, Delgado tucked the cellphone inside his jacket and turned to the clerk. "We've adjourned. Which case is next?"

The clerk handed him a thick file. "United Processing versus Ortiz."

Christine panicked. Instead of preparing her case, she'd been admiring Judge Delgado as he rescued Washington from financial ruin. Now it was too late. The judge would not be pleased to find her unprepared. With a final prayer as she touched the locket at her throat, she rose on leaden legs and carried Carlotta's folder to the Defendant's table.

Ratner was still fuming at the table to her left.

The judge reviewed his clerk's memorandum, then folded his glasses and set them beside his placard. "Give your appearances for the record, then we'll begin."

"Jacob Ratner, Esquire, for the plaintiff."

"Christine Dale, of The Bronx Defense Project, for the defendant."

Judge Delgado measured her with his discerning gaze, amusement crinkling briefly in the corners of his hollow eyes. In her present anxiety, she didn't know what to make of his expression.

"Defendant's motion," he said in his even tenor. "Miss Dale, what is this about?"

Christine took a deep breath and recalled what little information her supervisor had given her when he'd called her into his office earlier that morning. "United Processing claims that Mr. Ortiz owes them a credit card debt, but they never served him the papers for this lawsuit. We moved to dismiss the case on those grounds. United's process server already testified at a hearing, which was adjourned until today for Mr. Ortiz to testify."

Delgado settled against his tall headrest and steepled his fingers again. "Then you may begin, Miss Dale."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Having cleared this first hurdle, Christine waited while her client sat in the witness chair and gave his oath, name, and address to the court reporter. "Mr. Ortiz, how long have you lived at the address that you just gave?"

"Twelve years."

"Has anyone else lived with you during that time?"

"My wife, but she passed away last year."

"Objection," Ratner cried. "I want that answer stricken. It has no relevance."

The lawyers in the gallery whispered their surprise; an interruption so early into testimony was unusual. Judge Delgado frowned and turned to Christine for her response. The courtroom stilled.

"United's process server said he personally handed the court papers to Ortiz's wife," she explained, "but she was already deceased. Regardless, the process server's description of her is entirely false."

"Overruled," said the judge.

Christine gave herself and her client time to recover from Ratner's callous objection before resuming her examination. Then, reading the file as she talked, she inquired about the date of Mrs. Ortiz' passing and about her description while alive, including the features that the process server had gotten wrong. Ratner objected to nearly every question, no matter how unreasonable his basis. Yet even as she countered Ratner's challenges, she questioned her client gently, like a mother promising both protection and comfort. She lacked Carlotta's assertiveness, but Carlotta was so severe that she frightened her own clients. Building Ortiz' confidence through a milder approach, Christine controlled the proceeding like a seasoned litigator, admired by the other attorneys in the room.

"If you had received a summons, what would you have done?" asked Christine towards the end of her examination.

"Objection. She's asking the witness to speculate."

Judge Delgado sighed and raked his skeletal fingers through his hair. "Miss Dale, perhaps you could rephrase the question?"

Meaning Ratner was right!—unless she could ask the question so that it didn't contravene the rules of evidence.

But the judge stared at her, and she couldn't think. Her hands shook as she flipped through Carlotta's notes. Half of them were illegible, and Christine had hardly had a chance to read the file. She chewed her lower lip as she tried to decipher the scribbles and collect her thoughts. Doubtless her boss would hear how she fumbled, and then he'd never trust her with another hearing. Meanwhile, the entire courtroom waited. At least her back was to the gallery—but the judge saw her blush.

A moment later, Judge Delgado addressed the witness himself. "Mr. Ortiz, have you received mail for your wife since she died?"

Christine's eyes lifted and her jaw dropped. Delgado, who had no patience for unprepared attorneys, was saving her from shame.

"I still do, sometimes." Ortiz turned to the judge, then averted his eyes to the dark rose.

"What do you do when that happens?"

"I open it. If it's important, I tell them my wife's gone. If it's junk mail, I throw it out."

"Did you receive any mail or package concerning this lawsuit?"

"No, Sir."

The judge smiled at Christine. "Anything else, Counselor?"

Her mouth was still hanging open. She wet her lips and replied, "Defense rests."

"Your witness, Mr. Ratner."

But Ratner had lost his poise. "If you were never served with papers, Mr. Ortiz, then how did you find out about this lawsuit?"

"I never got a summons, but I did get collection letters in the mail from United. I'd never heard of them. I took the letters to The Bronx Defense Project. They found out about the case."

Ratner pursed his lips. Obviously his client had not complied with procedures. But instead of conceding, he glared at Judge Delgado. "Aren't you going to assist me, too, Judge?"

The jab earned a few chuckles from the gallery.

"Don't provoke me, Counselor."

"I'm merely pointing out that this proceeding seems one-sided."

"If you're implying that the court should recuse itself, then file the proper motion. Meanwhile, I'm dismissing your case. You failed to establish jurisdiction over Mr. Ortiz." Donning his glasses one last time, he signed the order with a flourish like Zorro with his sword.

"Expect an appeal," Ratner muttered to the judge before turning to an amazed Christine. "I don't know what pull you have with him," he hissed, "but I intend to find out." In a terrible temper, he shoved his papers into his briefcase and stormed out of the courtroom.

Christine ignored him. She congratulated her client and advised Mr. Washington, who'd he'd stayed to watch her hearing. Had she paid more attention, she would have found Ratner's anger more troubling, given what came to pass days later.

a/n: I appreciate reviews and do take all criticisms under advisement. For more stories of Erik in court by other authors on FFN, slide over to my C2! (And please suggest any that I've missed.)