M. J. Rodgers - Baby Vs. The Bar стр 3.

Should he wait to see the face that went with those fabuous legs? He checked his watch. He had exactly forty-five seconds to make it to court.

Oh, what the hell, he muttered beneath his breath as he tore off toward his courtroom. Probably wouldnt have been worth it, anyway.

His client, Louie Demerchant, met him just outside, looking slightly peeved. I thought you were going to be late.

Never, Marc said, running a quick hand through his thick blond hair to set it obediently back into place. Weve waited a long time for this, Mr. Demerchant. Lets go inside.

Marc could feel the tension in the packed courtroom minutes later as the tall, thin Stanley Binick slithered up to the witness stand.

Tear him apart, Truesdale, Louie Demerchant whispered angrily into Marcs ear as they sat together at the plaintiffs table.

Marc nodded, understanding his clients feelings. This well-publicized suit they had brought against Binick had more to do with revenge than money. Whats more, Marc was happy to be a part of that revenge.

A couple of hundred years ago, Marc would have been acting as second to Louie Demerchant as Demerchant and Binick drew pistols and aimed for each others hearts. Today, Marc acted as Louie Demerchants lawyer.

Time had changed the mode, but not the emotion. Wounded human hearts cried out for justice in their pain. And justice was Marc

Truesdales business.

Marc studied Binick as the clerk swore him in. He had gotten to know the man and his attorney, Quon Sato, over the two long years it took to get this case to trial. He respected the dark, compact Sato, who had a quiet manner and considerable knowledge of the law. But whenever the shifty, skin-shedding Binick was around, Marc instinctively kept checking to be sure his wallet was still in his pocket and his watch on his wrist.

Binick had refused to settle. Sato had consistently and competently stalled with every legal trick imaginable. Marc had countered them, overcome them. Now the defense attorney could stall no longer. Finally, Binick was in Marcs sight.

Marc got to his feet and moved as close as permitted to the witness box. He kept his tone pleasantly neutral. That was how one dispatched an offender in these more civilized times, with indisputable facts and irrefutable logica bloodless separation of the incompetent from his professional reputation and financial resources.

A lot of these incompetents, Marc knew, would have preferred the quick bullet to the heart.

Please state your name and occupation for the record.

The mans thin voice came out in a high rasp as he rubbed his sweaty hands together in jerky little movements. Stanley Binick, president of Bio-Sperm.

Mr. Binick, would you please explain to this court what Bio-Sperm does?

Bio-Sperm collects human sperm, stores it and makes it available for artificial insemination.

Is your business commonly called a sperm bank?

Yes.

A moment ago you said you were the president of this sperm bank, but arent you also the sole owner of Bio-Sperm?

Yes.

You have no silent partners, no investors? You are totally in control of this private company?

Yes.

What did you gross last year?

Your honor, I object. Irrelevant, Sato interjected.

The judge turned to Marc. She was an older, gray-haired gal in her sixties. This was her last year before retiring from the bench. Marc had been up before her countless times. She was one of his favorite judges, because he knew he was one of her favorite lawyers. He sent her a small smile.

Your Honor, this jury must be presented with a clear understanding of all aspects of Bio-Sperm, including its solvency. Only then can they fully appreciate the extent of the improprieties and damages done to my client, Louie Demerchant.

Objection overruled, the judge said. You may answer the question, Mr. Binick.

He may, yes, but he was clearly hesitant to do so. He sank lower in his chair as his raspy voice got fainter and his nervous tongue shot out to wet his lips. A little more than four million.

Four million? Marc said, repeating it loudly, letting his voice rise in surprise; although, of course, hed already known the answer. A smart attorney had better know the answer to every question he asked of a witness sitting in front of a jury.

You made four million in one year?

Binicks nervousness over the emphasized point caused his eyes to squint as he rubbed his tiny scale of a nose. Gross, of course. And I work hard for that money. My rules are very stringent for donors. I accept applications only from college graduates. I personally do the interviews to make sure we get good-looking men.

So your hard work is to pick out good-looking men?

Well, partly...yes.

How do you define good-looking?

Tall. Physically appealing. Certainly no short men or men with big noses or receding chins. Our clients definitely wouldnt want to have such a mans child.

Marc smiled to himself as he caught the dark looks erupting on the faces of the jury, a group of the shortest men with the biggest noses and most receding chins he had been able to find. So far, this testimony was going exactly as planned.