Young Writers Society

Ferrera’s briefcase was really heavy that day. It tinkled the whole time, while he carried it in the subway, making that sound that only metals can do. It also made a loud and heavy noise when he put it violently in his desk, right in front of Mr. Shutz.

“What’s in the briefcase?” Mr. Shutz asked, smiling. He was sitting right there, in Ferrera’s office, eating nuts in his expensive and black suit, looking calm, relaxed and confident; nothing like a guy who, a couple of hours earlier, was facing the dead penalty.

Ferrera did not say a word. He went to the minibar, took a whiskey bottle and leaned his back against the wall. Served himself a glass and drank it in the blink of an eye without showing any reaction. Then he took another one, and another one, and another one... all while Mr. Shutz patiently waited and watched, without knowing that Ferrera had never been the kind of guy that liked silence… or even scotch.

When he reached the fourth glass, he turned his eyes to his companion and said with a voice so soft, but at the same time so strong and clear:

“I went to your house for the trial papers.”

“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Shutz, smiling and cracking a nut with his yellow teeth. “Was it any trouble to find them?”

There was no answer, only the sound of Ferrera’s throat at the time he drank a fifth glass.

“I went to your house for the trial papers”, repeated Ferrera like he hadn’t heard any comment or any question.

“You asked me to do it, so I did. No problem. I am your lawyer after all, right?”

“That’s right, boy. Don’t you forget that”, and, in this sentence, Mr. Shultz’s voice was menacing, almost dangerous, but the smile in his face was as broad as always. Ferrera looked at him for a long time, like if he didn’t recognize who or what he had in front. Finally, Ferrera just took a sip directly from the bottle.

After minutes that felt like hours, Ferrera put the bottle and the glass again in the minibar. He walked around the room a couple of times and stopped right behind Mr. Shutz’s chair. Ferrera was tired, exhausted and a little bit drunk. He was only thirty years old, a child for other lawyers, and he was now ready to throw his entire career away. He knew that, by the time he said the sentence that he so desperately needed to say, there would be no turning back.

Ferrera took a deep breath… and putted in Mr. Shutz hand a square, white object. It was small, but it surely was important by the way the eyes of his client opened. In the blink of an eye Mr. Shultz was as calm as ever, although Ferrera had seen genuine horror crossing those little eyes of him, even if it was only for a second.

“I found the tape”, whispered Ferrera in the ear of the old man, whose smile had vanished the moment he examined what he had in his hand: it was a cassette, and it wasn’t other than the one of his video recorder.

Both men looked at each other. Ferrera’s face showed his determination and his will; It showed sadness, fear and a complete disgust for the person he had in front of him. On the other hand, Mr. Shutz had a face white and red and some little sweat drops all around; only his little blue eyes were still while the rest of his body succumbed to the tremors and the cold. Both men looked at each other, sharing an infinite hatred.

“Did you-?”, asked Mr. Shutz, without having the courage to finish the sentence.

“Yes, I did watch it. I watched over and over and over again how you did all those things you swore on court, swore to god and swore to me that you had not done!”, the rage was now completely visible in Ferrera’s eyes. “You said you hadn’t and I believed you… and I made the jury to believe you. I made them believe in you!”

Mr. Shutz said nothing.

“They were just kids, Shutz” continued Ferrrera. “Just kids, you fucking animal. I helped you. I… helped you. You should be dead! You are an ‘innocent’ man because of me!”

“Well, it’s your damn job!” said Mr. Shutz while his chin trembled and his eyes flamed. “If you can’t handle it, you better find a new one, son. You said yourself: I’m innoncent.”

In that moment Ferrera remembered his briefcase and the reason why it was so heavy… and why he wanted it to be heavy. With just two steps he reached it, and opened it, and pulled out a shinny and large Colt, with the cannon pointing directly at Mr. Shutz chest, right at his heart. Ferrera knew how to use it and, at that distance, failure was out of the picture.

Again, silence. Again, both men measured each other with their eyes.

“Is this your idea-?” Mr. Shutz stopped talking and stared at the ground. After a while, when he looked up again at Ferrera, Mr. Shutz had a horrifying cynical smile, as broad as his face and with a complete lack of humor. “Is this your idea of a ‘due process’?”

It was the time for Ferrera to smile.

“No, I’m sure is not. But this is my idea of justice.”

Two shots were heard: no one could imagine how much hate and despite carried the first one, and how much guilt and remorse carried the second one. After that, there was blood… and peace.

The two bodies were found an hour later.