Authors: Gabriel Boutros
“I'm sorry; you’re Mr.
Larochelle, right?”
“
Maitre Jean Larochelle, oui
. Can I help you?”
“It’s my wife’s uncle,” Janus said, pulling Terry closer to him and holding their clasped hands up as if to prove their married status. “He appeared this morning. Maybe you represented him.”
“Probably. I appeared for close to a hundred people this morning.”
Janus was stunned at the thought that the lawyer had time to represent so many accused and it was barely past eleven o’clock.
“How…” he began to ask, but was unable to put his question into words.
“These arraignments are mere formalities,” the lawyer said, having guessed the unasked question. “They last less than a minute each, because virtually every suspect is detained until bail hearings which are scheduled in the coming days.”
“His name was Pizzi,” Janus said, trying not to think about the implications of the lawyer’s words. “
Is
Pizzi. Giuseppe. Like I said, he’s my wife’s uncle.”
Larochelle eyed Terry, surely wondering about this woman who stood wordlessly beside her husband, her expressionless face partially hidden by her large sunglasses. He set his briefcase down in the middle of the corridor and squatted next to it. Opening it he began rifling through the many files found inside. After a long search he stood up, holding a thin brown folder in one hand. Opening it he showed them a single silver-coloured disc in a clear plastic sleeve with a typed sticker on it.
“Here he is. Pizzi, Giuseppe. Charged with the whole gamut of sedition offences. Referred directly to the citizenship court for potential deportation. Bail hearing set for next Friday morning.”
At the words “potential deportation” Terry had sucked in her breath and squeezed her husband’s hand tighter. Janus turned to her and was surprised to see her remove her dark glasses.
She began to speak, had to clear her throat against a sob that was building there, then tried again.
“Are you any good at this?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Are you any good? As a lawyer I mean. You seem quite young and I want to make sure that my uncle is represented by someone who has experience in these security cases.”
Janus felt embarrassed by the harshness of her tone, but he was so surprised at her sudden revival that he said nothing. Larochelle blushed furiously at her question, but when he answered he was candid.
“I've been out of Bar School for two months,
madame
. That’s why they have me doing these arraignments. Because there’s nothing to be done for anyone, so there’s nothing for me to screw up. So, no, I have very little experience in security or any other cases. If you want to find a lawyer with experience, for whatever that’s worth, you can have your uncle’s file.”
He held out the folder and Terry eagerly grabbed it as if she feared he might change his mind.
“I don’t know all the lawyers around here very well yet,” Larochelle continued. “The man who can help you is Pascal, at the information desk. If anyone knows all the lawyers, it’ll be him.”
Larochelle proved as prophetic as he was honest about his own limited abilities. The clerk, Pascal, was unsurprised to see them back in line, Terry clasping her uncle’s file to her breast. When Janus explained to him what the young lawyer had told them Pascal smiled and reached into the front pocket of his shirt. He pulled out the business card of a lawyer named Jeff Silver whose office was across the street from the courthouse. The card was yellowing and bent around the edges, and the writing was partially faded.
“He’s a bit of a character,” Pascal said, “but he knows more about security proceedings than most people in the administration.”
“Security proceedings?” Terry cried, while Janus took her by the arm as they crossed the street. “They’re treating him like he’s some kind of terrorist over some goddamn lamb? Are they crazy?”
Janus said nothing. He was awestruck at the flood of misery he’d unleashed in his anger at Joe. He should have known that Joe’s arrest would convert his status to that of an illegal alien. And even without the trumped-up sedition charges, there were still minimum jail sentences for anybody who trafficked in any kind of contraband.
These were the very real consequences that Janus had turned a blind eye to in the days leading up to Joe’s arrest. Those were the days when he’d thought of nothing but how he was going to hurt him, whether Joe truly deserved those consequences or not. Now the situation was more serious than he’d ever dreamed it would be, and the consequences out of all proportion to Janus’s wounded feelings.
As they raced across Notre-Dame Boulevard he wondered if he had really hated Joe so much that he’d been willing to put him and his whole family through this agony. Or was this the only way he could regain some sense of relevance?
On the other side of the street they entered an office building that looked over a century old. They didn’t have an appointment but he hoped the lawyer would find time to listen to them. Still, he expected no miracles from this supposed expert in security matters.
They took a shaky elevator up to the fourth floor, to the offices of
Silver et associés, avocats
. The frosted glass door opened onto a small waiting room with two well-worn sofas and a tired-looking woman sitting at the reception desk. She looked up from her P-screen with an expression that showed surprise to see anybody there.
Janus rushed up to her and got right to the point.
“I’d like to see Mr. Silver, please.”
“Vous avez un rendez-vous?”
“What? No, I don’t have an appointment. But this is an emergency. Please, I have to speak to him.”
The receptionist let out an exasperated sigh.
“
Je suis désolé
. Sorry. But
Maitre Silver
never sees anyone without an appointment.
Il est très occupé.
Very busy, you see.”
“Look,” Janus came close to exploding. “This Silver is supposed to be an expert in security proceedings, and this is an emergency. I’m a Director at the Department of Municipal Infrastructure, so if you’re worried about money, don’t be.”
At that point the single door behind the receptionist opened and out stepped a tall, slim man in his mid-sixties. His curly hair was grey and thinning. He wore dress pants and shirt, neither of which had been ironed recently, and no tie. He wiped brown flakes from his chin with a napkin as he approached.
“Jeff Silver!” He nearly shouted when he spoke. “How can I help you folks?”
“
Ils n’ont pas de rendez-vous
,” the receptionist said accusingly.
“That’s OK, Gisèle, I’ve finished my lunch.”
He turned his attention to Janus and stepped forward to shake his hand. “I heard somebody mention security proceedings. Well, if you’ve been charged then you’ve come to the right place.”
“It’s not for me. It’s my wife’s uncle,” Janus said, motioning toward Terry.
“Right. Otherwise you’d be in jail instead of standing here talking to me, wouldn’t you? Well, it just so happens that I had a cancellation this afternoon, so come in and tell me your troubles.”
He led them around the reception desk and back through the door he’d just walked through. Janus saw no signs of any
associates
in the small office, nor was there any room to put them if there had been. He wasn’t surprised that the furniture in Silver’s office looked about as old as its owner. He and Terry sat down in front of a desk with several chipped edges and coffee-cup stains along its top. Janus slid himself forward on his chair to avoid a spring that was threatening to break through the worn seat cover.
Silver sat and reached out wordlessly. Terry handed him the small envelope she’d been carrying. On the outside of the envelope were stencilled the words “
La Reine contre Giuseppe Pizzi.”
“This might take a while,” Silver said. “Can Gisèle get you a coffee?”
“No,” Janus answered for both of them. “We’re fine. Take as much time as you need.”
Silver slid the disc from its sleeve and pushed it into a slot in his desk. Turning on his P-screen he leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet up onto his
desk, placing them next to a plastic wrapper that held the remains of a tuna salad sandwich. The soles of his shoes, nearly worn-through,
were pointing toward Terry’s face. Janus remembered Sahar telling him that showing someone the soles of one’s feet was considered
disrespectful in Middle-Eastern culture.
Perhaps sensing that his position didn’t project an appropriate image of professionalism, the lawyer abruptly lowered his feet and cleared his throat with a glance at Janus and his wife. He took a legal pad out of a desk drawer and began writing notes as he read from the screen.
Janus looked at this man and had an uneasy feeling that they weren’t in the right place. Whatever Pascal thought of him, the best years of Silver’s legal practice were clearly behind him. Janus worried that the lawyer might be desperate enough for paying clients that he’d take on a case that was out of his league just for the fees. He decided to hear him out and see if he knew what he was talking about.
Silver spent fifteen minutes skimming through the report, and then looked at them over his P-screen.
“Do you know this guy he was arrested with: Antonio Cirillo?”
“The name means nothing,” Janus said.
“That’s the butcher,” Terry said. “Where Uncle Joe gets his groceries.”
Silver wasn’t really listening to them, his attention still on his P-screen. After a while he sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
“Half these damn reports are redacted, you know. They could have written anything under there…”
He let his words die out, as Janus and Terry looked at him expectantly. Janus wasn’t sure if Terry had gotten the drift of what the lawyer was saying, but he wasn’t surprised to learn that they’d been given little evidence of Joe’s alleged terrorist ties. He felt like they were just spinning their wheels.
Silver looked at Terry with a pensive expression. He sat silently for about a minute before speaking.
“So, he’s your uncle, right?”
“Yes.”
“You love him, right?”
“Of course. He pretty much raised me.”
“Hmm. I see.”
Janus had had enough. He leaned forward, barely keeping the impatience out of his voice.
“Just what are you trying to say?”
Silver raised his hands in a defensive posture.
“I’m not trying to say anything,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out what your wife is willing to do to help her uncle out.”
“She...
we
are willing to do whatever we can. Whatever is necessary.”
“OK, that’s good. I just want everything to be out in the open.”
“Obviously you’re talking about money, Mr. Silver. How much is it going to cost?”
“You’re looking at two hundred thousand dollars.”
Janus was stunned at the amount. He saw that Terry had hardly reacted, clearly uncertain if this figure was exaggerated or not. He looked around at the shabby furniture and concluded that his earlier fears of a money grab by the lawyer were well-founded.
“To tell you the truth, Mr. Silver, we didn’t think you were that expensive.”
“First of all Mr. Janus, it’s
Maitre
Silver. It’s the title we get here in Quebec, and I think I’ve earned it. Second of all, no I’m not that expensive. Even at five hundred dollars an hour I’d have trouble running up that big a bill for a case like this. It’s actually fairly short and straightforward. I’ll be lucky to get twenty or thirty billable hours out of it.”
“Then what’s the money for?”
“The case against Mr. Pizzi, from what I’ve read so far, looks quite strong. As a matter of fact, in my experience when someone is charged with sedition offences the evidence against him is always quite strong. Even when the accused has done nothing.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“When the administration decides that someone is going to be accused of a sedition offence they always get their conviction. They’re very efficient that way.”
“But the money…”
“Bribes, Mr. Janus. To keep Mr. Pizzi in Canada and out of a long jail term, people will have to be paid off.”
Janus was shocked at the lawyer’s words. Although he was willing to go to any extreme to help Joe out, he was still an administration official. The idea of trying to bribe judges or lawyers both insulted and scared him.
“Listen, Mr. Silver…Sorry;
Maitre
Silver. I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with. I’m-”
“Head of the electric company or something. Yes, I know. You’re a big muckety-muck in the city and you can’t believe I’m suggesting we bribe anyone, let alone a Security Prosecutor and a
Con
or two. But that is what I’m suggesting. Because that, Mr. Janus, is how the system works.”