He’d avoided the thoughts the way a beaver keeps alert for predators along the riverbanks, busily tending to the day-to-day tasks with avid industry, hoping that by filling each moment with distractions it might allow the dark clouds to drift past. Perhaps this time he’d somehow earned enough positive karma to warrant a pass. He’d made it through some rough patches lately, the tics and creaks in his subconscious reminding him that even on sunny days with the wind at your back, safe passage can’t be assured with a psyche as tenuous as a leaky boat. The mind can be a cunning adversary. You can take every precaution, tend the garden wisely and dig out all the pesky weeds...mantras, prayers, meditations, positive and productive manipulations, you do all you can and may. Yet, when you think you’ve got a modicum of control, even the most diligent must sleep, then come the dreams.

Malaise flooded over him like a thick fog creeping through a drafty old house on a bone-chillingly wet morning. It hung on him like a blanket of toxic moss. Lying in wait, the boa constrictor of regret, remorse, guilt and heart- break squirms through the folds of his brain and wraps it’s relentless torment around the soul. She sat right beside him as if months and years were minutes and days passed. Hair and eyes as black as onyx, skin and voice as soft as talc. The feelings and pain as real as the worn pillow and frayed mattress on which he lay. He’d done every single thing humanly possible to forget and let go. Now there was nothing left but to resignedly embrace the torment and be glad he at least had that one constant companion to share the long nights. He knew without doubt that only the sweet embrace of a cold grave could free him from her bewitched embrace. Yet even then, stepping into the light whether it be benevolent and welcoming, or fiery and terrifying, will she await beyond?

In the twilight between dream and awakening, Bill tried to shake off the dreadful mental albatross he knew would hang over him for at least another day. He didn’t have time for self-indulgence right now, there were pressing matters to attend to. Like convincing Miles Hurley he wasn’t the vicious monster his arrest file made him out to be. He had a pretty good idea of the picture the judge and police and so-called civil society had of him. A few words on sheets of paper depicted him as a sociopathic psychopath, a menace and maniac. Well, he’d done some good in his life as well, hadn’t he? Was it enough to counterbalance the misdeeds? Certainly, the negatives couldn’t be completely erased, or even disregarded as aberrations. But could they be mitigated? As Bill splashed cold water on his face a light clicked on in his mind and clarity broke through the fog momentarily. He realized it was going to be up to he himself as to how his life was to be defined. It was going to have to be his choice, for good or bad.

* * *

Miles Hurley patiently listened to Bill’s story, which culminated in his ramming a Las Vegas patrol car, resulting in the attempted murder charge. Hurley surmised that the severe head trauma Bill had suffered in the crash played a big part in the tale. Embezzling money from a former employer, getting car-jacked, the car-jacker dying...maybe. But stumbling upon Tommy Two-Head tied to a tree in the dessert after he’d hit on a biker’s midget girlfriend, being snake bit while burying the body of his car-jacker, healed by a mysterious gypsy, counseled by a wise Indian, clubbed with a bumper jack and rescuing a naked beauty queen from low-rider banditos? In his forty years of lawyering, Hurley had seen and heard and handled a lot of bizarre cases, but this one won the prize. And now his client wanted a bail hearing? His best advice would be to try and cop an insanity plea.

As Bill related the story to his court-appointed attorney, he noticed the old man’s eyes glaze over. He understood the look. The details of the past weeks were a lot to swallow. He hadn’t even mentioned the parts about Elena Chang drowning, or that he’d discovered that it was himself who stabbed his abusive foster father with a four-foot icicle through the heart. Nor did he mention that the prime motivation for wanting to be bailed out was that the hired goon, Jimmy Fingers, was leaning on him to come up with the hundred-grand he’d stolen from the law firm, with the not so subtle threat of what would happen to G Lu and Tommy if he failed.

As he was relating the story he studied Hurley’s features. He had the feeble frame of an aging arthritic, gnarled hands, crooked posture, bald head with extreme ear hair, a crumpled suit worn through at the elbows. He carried his paperwork in a Walmart shopping bag. The first time that he saw Hurley, he thought they’d pawned some loser has-been on him. But then he noticed something else. Hurley’s most distinguishing feature was his eyes. They didn’t match the rest of him. They were sharp and clear and piercing; he could see he was unusually intelligent, and another thing...he recognized him.

It must have been seven, maybe ten years ago when he’d seen Hurley on the news defending a mob boss in New York. After, he was in L.A. representing the son of a well-known actor on a murder charge. Both clients walked. Hurley had been at the top of his game back then and he looked the part. Distinguished, confident, successful. The mobster subsequently was indicted for a string of criminal acts. The actor’s son’s young wife was found with her throat slashed in a Bel Air condo. The TV had plastered a picture of her pretty face all over the news for what seemed like weeks, along with the actor’s son, and Hurley. Then, probably the worst thing for the attorney, his own son indicted for a variety of offenses that even he, great Miles Hurley, couldn’t contest.

Bill observed the slumped shoulders of the tattered Hurley; so this is what it looks like when one of the country’s top legal minds bottoms out, not pretty. If Bill was going to have a shot at bail, he was going to have to help and he had some ideas. ”Look Hurley, on the Miami hold, it’s only for questioning as far as I know. If you can get a hold of Miami P.D., maybe an ex-parte with the judge can shed some light. It’s nothing that needs to be discussed in open court. Next, the missing girlfriend, it hasn’t been charged, yet. It’s not a warrant, but the longer we wait around, the D.A. is going to probably try and get that charged. On the attempted murder, you saw the cop, he’s not hurt that bad and it’s his word against mine, they can’t prove intent. Besides, I was under the effects of some pretty potent snake venom and I hadn’t slept in quite awhile.”

Hurley knew what he was getting at. ”I thought you were just an accountant in that law firm. Where’d you learn about diminished capacity?”

”They had a pretty extensive law library. I did some reading.”

”Maybe you haven’t heard, dim cap isn’t valid as a defense anymore. Too many defendants were using it as an excuse for criminal acts. You kill the wife, too much to drink or under the influence of prescription drugs and you walk, the public got tired of it.”

Bill countered. ”That’s true, you can’t use it as a defense. But, it still doesn’t mean a jury couldn’t hear that evidence in passing through witness testimony.”

”Can you produce witnesses that have knowledge of the snake bites? You can’t testify yourself because the other charges will come up, it’d be a killer. Can you produce the midget girl, a gypsy, Tommy, G Lu?” Hurley knew that Bill could never testify at trial or even a bail hearing. Once he took the stand any and all prior charges would come up for consideration.

Bill realized he couldn’t present witnesses, he’d never ask any of them to testify even if he could locate them. ”Hurley, all of that doesn’t matter, witnesses or no witnesses...as long as the prosecution thinks I can produce the evidence and can come up with witnesses, that’s all that matters.” The wheels in Miles Hurley’s mind were turning. ”And Hurley, I think it’s best if we leave the part about the buried car-jacker out of it.”

In court, Hurley was lucid and borderline brilliant. A simple bail hearing turned into a mini-trial with Detective Smith and the injured patrol officer taking the stand. Smith confirmed that the Florida hold was only for questioning, and a confidential phone communication from the judge to Miami P.D.’s Watch Commander, Andy Leopold, effectively removed that portion of the case from the argument at hand. The patrol officer appeared healthy and the judge opined that the charges likely might be reduced at some point. There was still the question lingering of L.A.P.D. wanting to interview Bill in a missing persons case, and Bill having no ties to Las Vegas. If bond was to be set, it would be high...and Bill had nothing.

When they returned from lunch break, Bill vas shocked and dismayed to see Jimmy Fingers, Tommy Two-Head and Gloria Lupino sitting in the courtroom. He whispered to Hurley, ”What are they doing here?” Hurley shushed him, the judge was speaking.

”The outstanding charges are very serious and the defendant has no local ties to the community. However, Mr. Hurley has made some valid points, which I’ve considered along with ex-parte communications submitted and witnesses present who I’m advised will present collaborating testimony, is that right Mr. Hurley?” Hurley provided an enthusiastic, if not dishonest, head nod. ”Bail set at fifty-thousand dollars. Court adjourned.” The gavel slammed.

Bill was floored. Bail granted? The D.A. barely argued. But fifty- thousand? How was he going to manage that? In the holding cell, Hurley finally arrived after what seemed hours of waiting, he supplied Bill with another shocker.
”Bail’s been posted, you’re free to go.”

Bill was querulous, ”Bail posted? How...who?”

”Your girlfriend out there, she sold her car and your friend covered the balance. The D.A. thought we were going to present the witnesses and I filled him in on what they’d testify to. He figured the fifty-thousand either would be too high to come up with, or at least it’d insure your future appearance. I take it that’s correct?”

Bill was floating, ”Absolutely!”

”One more thing.” Hurley wasn’t finished. ”The judge appointed Mr. Fingerelli as an ’Officer-of-the-Court’ on recommendation of the L.A.D.A.’s office, to escort you to L.A. to answer questions on the missing persons case and to insure you’ll be back here in two weeks for prelim. You’re in his custody.”

”Jimmy Fingers? He’s a murderous thug!” Bill was incredulous.

”May be Bill, but he’s your ticket out, take it or leave it.”

Bill knew he had no choice. This was the only game in play. When he gathered his scant property and was released to the waiting Jimmy Fingers, Bill glanced the familiar look in Jimmy’s eyes. In that brief instant, he realized he’d made a deal with the devil using the last lingering remnants of a soul that he had left.