Big Easy Bonanza

He’s trying for life. What he wants is for Darryl to turn around.”
    “Turn around on whom?”
    “I don’t know. I guess whoever he bought the pot from. He hasn’t told me.”
    “No chance of getting him off?”
    “He’s working on the ‘It was my twin brother’ defense, and the ‘I thought it was hay for a Halloween hayride’ defense. So far no takers.”
    “I appreciate your handling this, Tubby. Has he been paying you?”
    “No problem there. He’s ahead of the game. When he comes in this afternoon I may ask for another deposit.”
    “That’s great.” Reggie did his little finger-flutter, taken from the “itsy-bitsy spider,” meaning here comes more manna from the sky.
    “These pennies ain’t from heaven,” Tubby said.
    Reggie laughed and was still chuckling merrily when he went off down the hall toward his office. Defending Darryl did not bother Tubby. He had always liked the kid, too.
    Darryl came by after lunchtime, which for Tubby had been fried oysters on French with melted butter and lemon juice. Cherrylynn had bought it at The Pearl down the street. Tubby ate the sandwich, all fourteen inches of it, at his desk, brushing the crumbs off a Memorandum in Support of Exception of Vagueness he was reading. He wondered how Californians got by on raspberry yogurt or Whoppers or whatever it was they ate for lunch.
    Darryl came in carrying a blue gym bag, the kind a lot of people now showed off to suggest that they had spent their lunch hour working out at an executive spa. Despite his wavy black hair and the two gold chains around his neck, Darryl did not look so hot. A little frayed, maybe. But he flashed his big smile when he asked, “How’s it going today, Tubby?”
    “I’m staying busy. Have a seat.” Darryl was pretty fidgety. Maybe facing prison time did that to you. Tubby told him about his talk with the U.S. Attorney.
    “You think they’ve got a case?” Darryl asked.
    “I don’t see how a first-year law student could miss landing you, Darryl. All they’ve got to do is show the videotape of you waving at the camera with your hand on a ton of marijuana while a shrimp boat disappears into the Gulf. I’m just giving you the straight poop. They misspelled a few words in the indictment, but I don’t think that’s going to save you. They read you your rights four times. If you don’t want to take the hit, you’re going to have to tell them what you haven’t told me. Who were you selling it to? Or, who were you working for?”
    Darryl sighed. “If I told you that, I’d have a lot more problems than I have now. So what are we talking about if I get convicted?”
    “The penalty for possession of that much pot with intention to sell is a minimum of twenty-five years, up to life. Except for your little cocaine bust in 1985, this is your only offense. Because I’m such a good lawyer, I think you’ll get the twenty-five years and serve about eight.”
    Darryl sighed again. “Monique would shit over that.”
    “Who is Monique?” Tubby asked.
    “Aw, she’s my girlfriend. We’re probably getting married. She’s my night manager at Champs. I told her I might have to do six months. I think she might get another job if I got eight years.”
    “Give me something to tell the U.S. Attorney and let’s make a deal. Then everybody’s happy.”
    “Not as happy as you might think,” Darryl muttered. “I’ll see if maybe the Governor will commute my sentence. I contributed enough.”
    “Not even the Governor can commute a federal sentence. He just can’t reach over to Pensacola and say, ‘You’ve got one of my very best friends locked up in your very comfy prison. Please cut him loose and send him home to the ‘Gret Stet’ of Louisiana.’”
    “No? Okay, I guess not. What happens next?”
    “I’m going to file discovery motions and see what the rest of their evidence is—other than catching you with several bales of grass in your truck. They’ll set it for trial in September, October maybe. There’s not much for you to do now but look after your business. And maybe you should take a little time off and spend it with Monique.”
    “I’ve been thinking about doing that, too. Maybe run over to Gulf Shores or, who knows, fly up to Canada.”
    “Whereabouts in Canada?”
    “Heck if I know. Monique says she wants to go to the Yukon and see the Mounties.” Darryl shook his head. “Listen, Tubby, could I leave this with you?” He plunked the gym bag down on