"... because the system of justice in this country is like a big dog..."
A dog? Justice is like a dog"? Are you insane? "Crap!" She shouted. "Crap, crap, crap!" Half the newsroom looked at her.
What is Lee Maisel going to say when he reads this stuff? What's Piper going to say?
"... because the system of no, because the justice system in this country, no, because the American justice system is like a bird with an injured wing ..."
Crap, crap, crap!
FRED MEGLER WAS AS ENTHUSIASTIC AS COULD BE EXpected, considering that his lunch was two hot dogs (with kraut and limp onions) and a Diet Pepsi and considering too that his view while he was eating was the Criminal Courts Building--the darkest, grimiest courthouse in all of Manhattan.
And considering finally that one of his clients, he explained to Rune, was about to be sentenced on a three-count conviction for murder two.
"Stupid shmuck. He fucking put himself away. What can I say?"
Megler, still skinny, still gray, was chewing, drinking and talking simultaneously. Rune stood back, out of the trajectory of flecks of hot dog that occasionally catapulted from behind his thick, wet lips. He was impressed with her story about Frost even as he tried not to be. He said, "Yeah, sounds like Boggs might have a shot at it. Not enough to reverse the conviction, probably. But the judge might go for a new trial. I'm not saying yes, I'm not saying no. There's new evidence, then there's new evidence. What you're telling me, this was evidence that could have been discovered at the time of the trial."
"I was sort of wondering about that. How come you didn't find Frost?"
"Hey, I was making minimum wage on that case. I don't have an expense account like you newspeople do. I don't sit around at five o'clock drinking manhattans in the Algonquin."
"What's a manhattan?"
"A drink. You know, rye and vermouth and bitters. Look, the Boggs trial, I did what I could. I had limited resources. That was his problem. He didn't have any money."
The tail of the last hot dog disappeared. Rune had an image of a big fish eating a small fish.
"Doesn't sound like justice to me."
"Justice?" Megler asked. "You want to know what justice is?"
Rune sure did and as she pressed the record button on the little JVC camcorder hidden from his view in her leopard-skin bag, Megler--who could probably have cited all kinds of laws on being taped surreptitiously--was polite enough to finish chewing and to take on a reflective expression before he spoke again. "Justice in this country is luck and fate and circumstances and expedience. And as long as that's true, people like Randy Boggs're going to serve time they shouldn't."
"Will you handle the case?"
"We had a conversation about my fee...."
"Come on. He's innocent. Don't you want to help him out?"
"Not particularly. I don't give money to homeless people. Why should I be more generous with my time?"
"I don't believe you." Rune's voice went high. "You--"
"Would your network pay my bill?"
Something sounded wrong about it. She said, "I don't think that'd be ethical."
"What, ethical? I wouldn't get into hot water for that."
"I meant journalists' ethics."
"Oh, your ethics." He swilled the last of the Pepsi, glanced down and noticed a spot on his navy-blue tie. He took a pen from his pocket and scribbled back and forth on the tie until the smudge was obscured. "Well, that's the net-net. I work, I get paid. That's carved in stone. But you got some options. There's Legal Aid. Or ACLU--those dips get orgasmic, they get a case like this. One of those three-piece do-gooders from Yale or Columbia or Hahvahd might get wind of it and pick up the case. So you run your story--I'll guarantee you, some scrawny little NYU graduate'll be banging on your door begging to get Boggs's phone number."
"But that could take months. He's got to get out now. His life's in danger."
"Look, I've got to walk back to that hellhole in twenty minutes and stand next to a man who--it is alleged--machine-gunned three rival gang members while he told Po-lack jokes to one of his mistresses. I have to stand there and listen to the judge explain to him that he's going to spend at least fifteen years in a ten-by-twenty cell. When he came to me he said, 'Fred, I hear good things 'boutchu. You get me off. You do that? You get me off.'"
He laughed and slapped his chest. "Hey, I didn't get him off. He's not happy and he and his friends are killers. What I'm saying is, Boggs's in danger, I'm in danger. Think about it. You're in danger too. You're the one saying the cops, the prosecutor and your own Network're a bunch of dickheads. Life is dangerous. What can I say?"