It was a cold, winter’s day in the heartland of the nation.   The date was December 22.  David “the Voice” Mastro was leaving his law office at 9 am. He was headed to the courthouse.
 

Meanwhile, Gus the pretzleman was leaving the storehouse that housed his three wheeled pretzel cart each night.   He was headed to the corner of seventh and main and his spot kiddy-corner from the courthouse parking lot.  He dragged his three wheeled cooking contraction behind him.

Neither the Voice nor the Pretzleman knew Linda “Lucy” Luciana.   

The judge in Mastro’s case was the Honorable Harriet Lasky.  She was known for the peculiar habit of tossing salmon into vats of boiling oil, and then bringing the crispy treats to court for those in the gallery.  Her court reporter was some fresh faced kid the Voice had never seen before.   Mastro wasn’t worried.   Perhaps he should have been.

The kid walked into Lasky’s court room, placed a briefcase on the floor. He unsnapped the leather vessel and removed his ruler from within.  Slowly, methodically, the kid began to measure the table on the plaintiff’s side of the courtroom.   Mastro had not yet arrived.  Neither had the judge.   The bailiff, however, watched the young reporter with a sidelong glance, just as the old fashioned steam heaters came on with an audible HISSSSS

It was just about 9:15, when Linda’s cellular phone vibrated noisily in a coffee shop about five blocks away.  There was something about her phone that made the vibration sound louder than her ringtone.  There was also something about this particular coffee shop that seemed more inviting to Lucy than her own home. Consequently she hadn’t made herself a cup of coffee in at least six months.  That was
now the job of the revolving door of high schoolers who played at “barista”

Gus the pretzleman left his cart on his corner, and carefully crossed the street.  He traversed the seventy three steps up to the courthouse slowly and carefully.   When he finally reached the apex and wandered inside, he welcomed the blast of heat.

He looked at the signs above the doors he saw in front of him, and then wandered to the big doors marked “Division 4.”    He peered in through the window. All he saw was a gangly red haired boy, carefully measuring a table on the left side of the room.    Gus pushed the door gently.  It swung open.  He wandered inside.

Approximately ten minutes later, Mastro “the Voice” came in through the same doors.  Lucy followed almost immediately after.

“Linda Luciana” she said, “extending her hand towards Mastro.

“David” he said casually, but without grasping the paw that had been proffered.

“You Defense counsel?” he asked.

“Fraid so,” said Luciana.  “First case since that terrible mess with Charlie.”

Mastro suddenly realized who the woman was.  She had been in charge of the inaugural dance, but when she found out that Charlie Brunha was running, she had moved its location, without warning, and without telling him.    Although she claimed it was an error, and would not happen again, most did not believe her and she’d become a pariah in the legal community.

David however did not care much for such comic relief.   To him she was just another lawyer. Mastro turned towards Gus and motioned him over. “This is my client, Gus” he said.”

“A pleasure.” Said Linda.  “Just doing my job today, nothing personal.”

“Understand,” said Gus.

Judge Harriet got to her chambers at 9:27.   She was empty handed and had done none of her holiday shopping.  She moved almost immediately to the courtroom. This would be a quick case, one way or the other.   

In due course the court reporter took his place, the bailiff settled in behind a clandestinely secreted novel, and Judge Harriet took the bench.  

The case went forward, as most cases in December seem want to do. Lucinda claimed the case was a straight forward case.   Gus, she claimed, had stolen the idea for a salted bread stick from her client.   Gus, through the Voice, claimed the story wasn’t so straight forward after all, and that, in fact, it had a twist in it.   His was not a stolen bread stick, but a long standing family recipe for a pretzel.

Judge Harriet took in the evidence, wrote some notes, and told all assembled she would issue her ruling after the holiday.   She had other fish to fry.

As the judge left the courtroom, her court reporter followed behind.  Gus shrugged his shoulders, tugged on his rugged rain boots, and headed out into the snow to sell his treats until someone told him he could no longer do so.

David Mastro reached into this coat pocket and pulled out his bowtie with the face of Rudolph the red nosed reindeer on it, replaced his power yellow tie with it, and headed to his favorite tavern, a smile on his face.     Court was done til after the holiday.   It was time for Christmas Carols.

Have a MERRY XMAS, EVERYONE ONE!

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Under Analysis is a nationally syndicated column. Charles Kramer is a principal of the St. Louis, Missouri law firm Riezman, Berger, P.C. You may direct comments or criticisms about this column to the Levison Group c/o this newspaper, or direct to the Levison Group via e-mail, at comments@levisongroup.com.

© 2013 Under Analysis L.L.C.