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up the long
gradual hill toward the city courthouse. Hit with a pang of civic
pride, he scooped up an empty beer bottle on Church Street and
tossed it into a nearby dumpster.
    The state courthouse was a relatively
attractive tinted glass structure that poked through the ground
about midway up Church Street hill like a polished brick of quartz.
The exterior of the building portrayed a bit of class, especially
compared with the dour federal courthouse two blocks away. Larkin
hustled up the stone steps and pushed his way through the revolving
door that had always needed more than a few squirts of oil. He
rubbed his eyes while cool conditioned air hit his face. He stood
quietly just inside the main entrance for a moment as he regained
his bearings. The interior of the courthouse certainly paled in
comparison to the building’s exterior.
    Whether one looked at the tan floorboards,
the spiraling stairs that cut through the center of the building or
even the metal detector that always seemed a bit too sensitive on
humid days, everything was worn. One of the busiest courthouses in
all of Virginia, the Big Lick City Courthouse saw heavy traffic
Monday through Friday. The paint scheme might have once resembled
the muted taupe and pastel shades typically found in public
buildings, but now the colors only peeked out from behind layers of
scuff marks.
    “Christ,” Larkin hissed as he scanned the
long line of people waiting to walk through the metal detector.
Years ago, he could have given the deputies guarding the court
entrance a little knowing wave and they would have allowed him to
bypass the security check. But now, all lawyers, even the
prosecutors who were constantly popping in and out of the building,
had to receive the electromagnetic onceover.
    The machine buzzed like a game show buzzer as
a stream of individuals continually upset the overly sensitive
detector. Larkin took his place behind a woman holding a toddler
and gabbing on a pink lipstick-colored cell phone.
    “That’s right,” he said under his DUI breath,
“bring your baby to court. The judge won’t throw you in jail if you
bring your baby. He’ll feel sorry for you and think that you’re
probably such a great mother. That misdemeanor won’t stick if you
bring your baby. Christ,” he cursed, “and a cell phone to
boot.”
    Larkin followed the woman’s lead and
deposited his personal effects into one of the plastic bowls on the
card table next to the metal detector. The deputy glared at the
woman’s cell phone which lay in the bowl a few inches from a
dangling baby foot.
    “No cell phones, ma’am,” said the deputy.
    The woman pointed to Larkin’s bowl.
    “How come he’s got his phone?” she asked.
    “He’s a lawyer, ma’am,” said the deputy.
“Lawyers can have phones.”
    “That’s discrimin - -”
    Larkin didn’t give her a chance to finish.
“Bullshit,” he said. “They don’t care if you’re black, white or
purple. You want to bring a phone in? Pass the bar exam.”
    The woman glared at the smartass behind her
in line. Her lips trembled and she took a deep breath, but she
ultimately said nothing.
    A sudden stroke of shame at the whole
incident, nearly forced Larkin to blurt the lie, “It’s okay,
though. I’m a civil rights attorney.” But he stopped himself before
getting in more trouble.
    “You’ll have to take the phone back to your
car, ma’am,” informed the deputy.
    Larkin scooted around her before either she,
her cell phone, or her baby could slow him down any further. When
he reached the metal detector, he gave Deputy Deano a high five.
Deano gave all the defense attorneys high fives, but Larkin had
never asked him why.
    “A bit fired up aren’t we today, Mr.
Monroe?”
    “Maybe,” said Larkin.
    “Not everyone went to law school like you, I
guess,” said Deano.
    Larkin paused. “Right.”
    “What you got this afternoon, Mr. Monroe?”
barked Deano from under his bristly horsehair moustache.
    “A little bit of