The Green Line (5 page)

Abby sat back. “I’ll tell you all about it, but not right now. I’m just trying to dig myself out around here,” she said, acknowledging the piles of work on her desk. Sarah would enjoy the drama, but she would chastise Abby for working that late to begin with, and begin her diatribe regarding Abby’s priorities. Sarah would have found a way to turn down the assignment. She believed all-nighters were the result of unorganized partners and she’d rather leave their messes to be cleaned up by over-eager beavers. Of course, such comments always made them both laugh since they both knew Abby was one of those over-eager beavers. But Sarah had always been blunt with Abby. Her personal life came first. She didn’t care about partnership. She’d do good work and keep clients happy, but she had no fear of refusing work. Lawyers like that didn’t last, but Sarah only cared about paying off her law school debt with a fat big-firm paycheck. She had no intention of a life-long sentence. Abby wasn’t in the mood for the lecture.

“That assignment for Peter took over the last seventy-two hours of my life. You know how things just pile up,” Abby added, while checking her clock. It was now lunchtime.

“So, no lunch, then?”

“Not now. I’ve got to go see Peter and try to explain.”

“Well, I’m curious as hell, but obviously you seem okay now, so I’ll be an adult and let you decide when to tell me.” They both chuckled. When it came to juicy stories, Sarah was like a kid at the candy counter, begging for more.

Sarah began to stand, but stopped, sat back down, and leaned forward. “Hey, I’m sure this isn’t a good time to do this, but I’ve been anxious to catch up with you today for another reason.”

“What is it?”

“I need to tell you something.” She gave it a dramatic pause. “David and that girl are engaged.”

For a second, Abby tried to remain cool. It would never work. She was too sleep-deprived. She swiveled her chair toward the window as the tears began and wiped her face over and over and tilted her head back, as if she could stop the leak.

Sarah continued. “I hope you don’t think it’s terrible for me to tell you this right now. I know you’re swamped and you look tired, and I don’t even know what happened last night. But I just thought that you are bound to run into him, especially if you end up going to court to file that temporary restraining order for Peter this afternoon. I thought you could use a warning.”

“No, I know. Thanks for telling me.” She was still looking at the ceiling, as if she had a bloody nose. She wiped her eyes and looked at her friend with an embarrassed smile.

“I shouldn’t be surprised. Obviously, we know he wanted to get married and start having kids. It’s just that it’s only been a few months. Who gets engaged to someone five months after breaking up with someone else?”

“I don’t know.”

“The sad thing is,” Abby began while attempting some levity, “I assumed that he wasn’t over me yet.” She began organizing stacks on her desk, as if to move on. “So much for me being the love of his life.”

“Abby, I have no doubt he still loves you. But you gave him the ring back. I’m sure he thought there would be no reconciling. And we’re not getting any younger, girlfriend. He’s definitely not.” They both smiled and Abby wiped her face again.

Abby’s phone rang. She looked down at her caller ID. “It’s Peter.”

Sarah stood to leave.

“I’m leaving early for a dress fitting. Lunch tomorrow, yes?”

“Yes.”

THE
call with Peter, though uncomfortable, was well-timed, as it forced Abby to focus on work and put David out of her mind for the afternoon. She tried to explain herself, but before she got started, he said, “These things happen.” He was not interested in hearing her excuse. He told her Neil could handle this one so she was off the hook. Not what she wanted to hear. Getting removed from a case, regardless of the reason, was not good.

She plowed through a few of the piles on her desk for the rest of the afternoon. By five o’clock, she felt like she had put in a full day. She was exhausted. Rubbing her eyes, Abby thought of how she needed her glasses. She also needed to repay that man, Ali Rashid. Shuffling through her bag, she found the coupon sheet and picked up the phone.

“Quick Mart. How can I help you?”

“Hello, this is Abigail Donovan. Is this Ali Rashid?”

“Yes, hello.” His voice made clear he remembered her.

“I just wanted to thank you again for getting me home safely last night.”

“Not a problem. But I’m glad you called. You left your glasses in my car.”

“I know. I realized that today. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get those from you, but as you might guess, I’m a little nervous about coming to your neighborhood again.”

Ali laughed. “It’s not that bad, you know. In the daylight, you’d probably see that it’s just people. It’s a pretty poor neighborhood and there’s a good bit of crime, but mostly good people. We’ve just got some crackheads here and there,” he added lightly.

Abby laughed. “I’m sure that’s true. I’m just a little freaked out. And unfortunately, I can never seem to get out of the office before dark. What if you came to the Loop and I took you to lunch?”

“Well, I’d be pleased to have lunch with you, but I cannot let you pay for my lunch.”

“Please, I insist on repaying you for your kindness.”

There was a moment of silence and Abby waited, hoping she had not somehow insulted him. Would a woman ever buy a man lunch in Iraq? She had no idea.

“Okay, that would be great,” Ali finally said. “When?”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have help at the store tomorrow. I could do it Thursday.”

“Great. Let’s say twelve thirty at Italian Village. Do you know where that is?”

“That’s by the Daley Center, right?”

“Yes.”

“That would be lovely.”

Just the sound of his voice, his sincerity, his formality, put her at ease. She was actually looking forward to seeing him again under much better circumstances.

SIX

AFTER
a good night of sleep, Abby settled back into her daily routine: a full day focused on her caseload, a short dinner break with other associates in the cafeteria, followed by some Norah Jones in her office while the cleaning crew vacuumed the halls and she caught up on returning e-mails. At eight thirty, she grabbed her fourth coffee and settled in to do a bit more research for a case, planning to be out by ten. And get a cab, she thought.

She was deep in concentration when the phone rang. The call was from an outside line.

“Abigail Donovan,” she said in her typical business tone.

“Abigail? It’s Ali Rashid.”

“Oh, hello…how did you get my number?”

“I checked my caller ID for your call from yesterday. I’m sorry to bother you so late.”

“No problem. I’m working, unfortunately.”

“Actually, I’m calling because I think I need a lawyer.”

“Why’s that?” Abby sat back, almost welcoming the distraction.

“I’ve been having problems with the police. They’re trying to shut me down and take my building.”

“Hold on.” She sat forward and grabbed a pen and paper. “What happened?”

“I don’t even know if I should have called you. Where I come from, you don’t fight police.” His fear was palpable.

“Ali, it’s okay. Just start at the beginning.”

“About eight months ago, the police arrested a boy for dealing drugs in my store. And then a couple of months ago it happened again. The officer said he found a bag of drugs behind the coffee maker as well.” He paused. “Hello?”

“I’m here. I’m just taking notes. Go on.”

“I was in the store both times. I never even saw anything happen. I’ve always cooperated with police, but they don’t like me. They brought me to the station one time and questioned me about drugs in the store and they asked about my legal status and . . .” He stopped.

“And what?”

“They just made some jokes about deporting me.”

“Are you legal?”

“Of course. But today the police officer returned and put a notice on my building that says it’s been ‘constructively seized’ pending a civil forfeiture action.”

She could tell he was reading from the notice.

“I didn’t understand and protested to the officer. I said, ‘
This is my building
’ and he just smiled and said ‘
Not for long
.’”

Abby circled the word
forfeiture
in her notes.

Ali continued. “I didn’t know who to call. I don’t know any lawyers. I don’t know how it works here. I don’t do drugs. I don’t sell drugs. I don’t know how they found drugs here or where the boy came from who they arrested.”

“Jesus.”

“Can they do that?” Ali sounded like he was getting more hysterical by the moment.

Abby spoke calmly, hoping to slow him down. “I’m not sure. I really don’t know much about criminal law cases. I do commercial litigation—contract disputes, product liability, stuff like that.”

“I’ve been struggling with this all day and then I thought of you. I hope you don’t mind.”

She began jotting down some names of fellow associates. “Well, this is a big firm. We don’t do any criminal work, but we have some former district attorneys here. I’ll ask around tomorrow for some names and see if I can get you a good referral.”

“Thank you, Abigail.”

“Call me Abby. Besides, you saved my life. This is the least I can do. Let’s meet for lunch tomorrow as planned and I’ll have more information for you. You can tell me exactly what happened.”

After hanging up, she wondered if she should call David about this. The state’s attorney’s office would be a good source for criminal-defense attorney references. But just the thought of having a conversation, of pretending that she was okay about everything, was too much.

ON
Thursday at twelve fifteen, Abby walked over to the Italian Village. The restaurant was packed with the typical business-lunchers along with a few tourists who had found their way over from the Marshall Field’s on State Street. The hostess led Abby to the table where Ali was waiting. Though his face was a bit of a blur until she got close to the table, she noticed for the first time that Ali was cute in a wholesome, nerdy way. He looked clean-cut, wearing a stiffly starched light-blue dress shirt and khakis. He stood as she approached the table. His smile revealed perfectly straight, bright white teeth and his obvious relief mixed with embarrassment. The familiar eyes made her feel instantly comfortable. They began with polite hellos, Ali returned Abby’s glasses, and they ordered their drinks. He sat forward and shared his tale in a hushed tone.

“Abby, I feel like all of a sudden, out of nowhere, the whole life I’ve been building here is going to be destroyed.”

Abby pulled a card from her purse. “I asked around this morning. This guy I work with was with the DA’s office for five years. He gave me the name of a lawyer who is well known in defense circles.” Abby handed him one of her business cards with the lawyer’s name and number on the back.

“Is he expensive?”

“Probably.”

“I don’t have much money.”

“Don’t worry about how to pay yet. I’m sure he has creative billing options. What’s most important is that you get great representation. You need to meet with him and get some proper legal advice.”

“Yes, you’re right. Thank you so much.”

“I haven’t really done anything. But I’ll be happy to call him and give him the heads-up that you’ll be calling.”

“Okay, that would be wonderful.”

Abby sat back then and offered a smile. “Try not to worry. This will get sorted out.” She had no idea if this would get sorted out, but she did not know what else to say.

Ali nodded in agreement and caved into silence, scanning his menu.

They ordered pasta and Ali quickly returned the subject to his store. “Abby, do you understand this law? Taking my building when I have done nothing wrong?”

“I don’t know as much as the lawyer you should call. I do know that there are two ways police take property—criminal forfeiture and civil forfeiture. In criminal, they go after someone’s property after getting a criminal conviction. In civil actions, the case is actually against the property, so it doesn’t matter if the owner is proven guilty of anything. Often, the owner isn’t even arrested.”

“But how can that be?”

“I know it seems crazy. I researched it years ago in law school. The theory is that the property is an instrument of the crime—in this case, I’m guessing drug trafficking—and so it’s the property’s guilt at issue.”

Ali shook his head in amazement.

“It’s weird, I know.”

“So, it doesn’t matter if I’m innocent?”

“It depends. There are usually innocent owner defenses in these types of cases, but again, Ali, I’m not qualified to tell you whether this is a weak or a strong case.”

“I used everything I had to buy that building. If I lose that, I lose everything.”