Date: Tuesday, August 21st, 2018
Time: 9:55 am
Location: Prosecutor's Building, Los Tokyo
As I predicted, nothing happened after my illegal seaside jaunt. I got pulled over a day after I left the hospital, innocently buying toothpaste and soap for my new apartment, but I made it home without incident the day I drove like a madman without a license. Not that I'm complaining. Technically, that's a jailable offense and I was being a little unhinged.
It took a lot of convincing myself, but I decided to sell the car. I didn't want to, but I could use the cash right now. I was able to get $9,000 for it. The guy who bought it asked me to knock some money off the price for the "racing stripe" that Mia put on it. I didn't have the energy to haggle with the guy and let it go for that.
I didn't have absolute proof that Mia did that but, I mean, Mamá knew how to drive so I'm just assuming. I shook my head when I saw it but laughed it off. I found it impossible to stay mad at her. Maybe this meant she got her license at some point.
About $12,000 of Mamá's savings had gone towards covering the storage locker and storing my car. It was an obscene figure, but it made sense when I counted the number of months that had elapsed between her untimely death and my waking. I appreciated the gesture, but it made me feel guilty when I knew that money could have gone to a better use.
After closing on the sale of her house and the funeral arrangements, there wasn't much more left after that. She aggressively put money into her private pension plan at work, and I was listed as the beneficiary, but I couldn't touch that until her planned retirement date in 2025. That money was locked in.
All told, between the car, her savings, and mine, I had about $30,000. Really not bad. I've definitely lived on a whole lot less. Maybe I could have sprung for that television in the hospital after all.
That said, the money wasn't going to go far. My rent was almost $2,000 a month, I needed to eat and all, and then there was health insurance and all those medications I needed for my condition. My disability insurance covered my health insurance premiums while I was asleep, and I was listed as on prolonged leave at Grossberg Law Offices, so I was able to stay on my health insurance plan.
Now that I'm awake and walking though, my disability insurance has finished. Further, now that I'm no longer a Grossberg Law Offices employee, I needed to find a new insurance provider and the premiums for a guy who spent five years in a coma are obscene. Who knew? That money, an amount of savings that could have covered two years of my living expenses as a broke college student, would now only get me through a few months.
Honestly, it sucked, but I was pleasantly surprised that I didn't have a multi-million-dollar hospital bill waiting for me when I woke up. I fully expected one of my insurance providers to screw me over while I was too braindead to fight for myself.
Mia could be a pit bull though, once she cast her nerves aside. So, while I couldn't confirm this to be the case, I assumed she must have threatened to throw the book at them or go to the media if they didn't honor their end of the bargain.
Knowing how precarious my financial situation was, you'd think I'd be rip-roaring and ready to get back to work. It didn't quite work that way. Hell, I barely even unpacked that first month. Shameful as it is to say, I kind of just laid around mostly. The only thing I unpacked was my TV and I would just watch movies or waste time scrolling on my laptop. Mostly old black and white movies too. They looked better with my visor's color scheme.
I couldn't sleep very well so I would sometimes go for walks too. Usually late at night, so there were fewer people around that I'd have to interact with. This neighborhood wasn't the safest but, even with my now scrawny body, no one bothered me. My don't give an eff attitude, my blank expression, and my visors made me look like The Terminator and I think I scared people away.
Otherwise, I didn't leave the house much other than to get food. Mostly groceries, but sometimes I'd go to a ramen stand or a diner and eat there. They were cheap and reliable sources of calories. I still didn't have much of an appetite, so a lot of days I would just subsist on coffee if I didn't make a point to eat at one of those places.
It took almost a month, but I think I've finally turned over a new leaf. After feeling sorry for myself, I realized I was being kind of a jerk to not even unpack all the stuff that Mamá had saved for me. Now, my place and the storage locker are distinguishable from one another. It finally looked like someone lived here. The bed was actually made; there wasn't just a balled-up comforter on a bare mattress.
I also started working out. A lot. My gentrified building had a small gym in it now and I went there for hours a day. Now that I've lost 25lbs of muscle mass, I had a lot of ground to cover, and I decided to pack it on as quickly as possible. I drank a nauseating amount of protein shakes to aid in that effort.
I never liked the gym, but I used to go out of necessity. I only got out of the habit when me and Mia dated because she didn't like going, and I would rather see her than go by myself. I remembered telling her that I would be a lot skinnier than I was when we were together if I didn't go at all. I could tell that she didn't believe me when I said that. She just looked the way she did; she didn't have to try, so she just didn't get it.
Unsurprisingly, back in Kurain Village, she didn't spend any time on bodybuilding forums and didn't know the nuances of men's strength training. She didn't know that the actors in movies spent hours at the gym every day, might be on steroids, and were probably dehydrated for their shirtless scenes, or that I had to put in a lot of hours if I wanted to look even half as good.
I hated every single solitary second that I was there, and it was a lot more painful with my body the way it is, but I pushed through the pain. I hated pretty much every solitary second that I wasn't there anyway, so I might as well be productive.
Sometimes, I overdid it and spent the entire next day literally knocked on my ass and completely unable to get up, but the effort was working. I was getting stronger and gaining some of the weight back.
I started getting into my hobbies again too, well beyond watching hours of TV and movies. I used to experiment with coffee blends in the past, but I got really methodical about it now that I have a lot of time on my hands. I would combine coffees of varying countries of origin, roast strength, and grind size and then trial them in different pieces of coffee-making equipment.
I got all the way to blend #107. Blend #26 was perfect for the French press. #47 was best in a pour-over. #63 was optimal for the espresso machine. It took 102 attempts to get the greatest cup for the common drip machine. Drip coffee wasn't my favorite, but it was the old faithful. The method I used when I was too lazy or tired to make a more involved cup.
I was pretty happy with the results of my experimentation although I did think about how deranged I would have looked to an outside observer. Me with my Doc Brown hair, trialing cup after cup of coffee into the wee hours of the morning until I had it just right. Not sure if this could be classed as a productive activity, but it kept my brain occupied, at least.
Most importantly, I finally decided to apply for a job. As a prosecutor instead of as a defense attorney. I vowed to keep an eye on Maya and make sure she was safe, but I hadn't done anything to ensure that. I didn't know how I would. I couldn't stalk the girl, obviously, and I wasn't going to go to Wright's office and beg for a job. Bafflingly, Maya seemed to help Phoenix with his cases, even when she was still a minor, so the only logical place to see her was in court.
I had an interview this morning at the Prosecutor's Building, and I was pretty sure I was a shoo-in. They seemed desperate nowadays and even had ads on bus shelters announcing that they were hiring. I wasn't planning on blowing the interview, but I had some leeway.
In preparation for the interview, I finally bought some nice new clothes. Prior to that, I just kept re-wearing and re-washing the clothes that were left for me at the hospital. In fairness to me, nice clothes were expensive, and I spent 95% of my time completely by myself. Who was I trying to impress?
I should have cheaped out and bought some bargain basement clothes, but I went to my usual clothing store and just was more selective about the number of items I picked up. Five shirts, three pairs of pants, a vest, and a tie only. Just enough to get me through a work week.
Clothes shopping while only seeing black and red was an interesting experience. The price tags didn't list the colors on them and the idea of approaching the clerk with a pile of shirts and asking him what color each item was seemed embarrassing for some reason. I couldn't even tell if the pants I picked up were black, dark brown, or navy blue.
I decided not to overthink it. I picked up the requisite number of items and brought them up to the cash register. Before I paid, I simply asked the clerk for his "expert opinion" and whether he thought everything matched together or if I should change my selections. He assured me that they did and so I purchased them. As crazy as it is to say, I have no idea what colors I'm wearing right now.
I showed up 15 minutes early to the interview and was called in ten minutes later.
"The Chief Prosecutor is ready to see you now," the secretary announced before she directed me to his office.
I knocked until I heard "come in" before opening the door.
He stood up to shake my hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Domingo. I'm Calvin Lewis, the Chief Prosecutor."
"Nice to meet you too, sir. My friends call me Godot."
"Godot Domingo?" He picked up my resumé and looked at it. "I don't see that name on here. Do you go by your middle name?" he asked.
"No, just Godot. It's a nickname. Take my first name and last name, Gonzalo and Domingo, chop 'em up, push 'em together, and there you have it."
"Ah, I see! I'm happy to use your preferred name, Godot." I nodded in thanks. He sat down and gestured for me to do the same.
When I decided I was switching careers, I wanted to eliminate any association with my old life. I didn't want anyone to find out about my attempted murder, my coma, my past career, my relationship with Mia, or anything like that. I didn't want to deal with the questions.
So, I came up with a new name and work history for my resumé. My plan all along was to use Godot. However, as little regard as I had for the prosecutor's office, I think they'd have some questions if they saw a mononym like that on my law degree and resumé. I came up with a fake full name too, so I could justify the nickname.
I picked the name Godot for a couple of reasons. For one, it sounded close enough to my real name that I figured I'd get used to answering to it quicker than another name. If I picked a name too dissimilar to my real name, I'd probably react too slowly after someone addressed me and look like a moron. Like I didn't even know my own name. Two, it was used in this play I read while I was in the hospital. One of the many works left behind that the staff lent me to read.
The play was a little out there, to be honest. Still not entirely sure how I feel about it. I thought the name was ironic and amusing though given my circumstances right now. Godot is some bringer of enlightenment to the suckers waiting for him. I don't think I have to explain that I offer the exact opposite of enlightenment right now. I can't even figure out my own life. There were also people waiting for him, and absolutely no one was waiting for me when I got out. Sometimes, I think my dark sense of humor is pathological.
"So," he continued, looking at my resumé again. "It says here that you have been working in the Dominican Republic for the past eight years, but you got your degree from LTU. What made you decide to move?"
"Well, I'm from the Dominican originally and I had a sick family member back home. I had to move back to look after her."
"I'm sorry to hear about that," he said contritely. "Is your family member better now, at least?"
"Passed, unfortunately. Got to spend the last few years with her though."
He frowned. "Really sorry for your loss."
"Thanks," I replied graciously.
"How does the legal system there compare to Japanifornia's? Are they similar?"
"Uh, not exactly," I admitted. "Little more corruption than I'd like there. I tried my best to uphold the standard of ethics single-handedly."
He scoffed. "As much as I hate to admit it, they're probably not that different from us." I was taken aback. A prosecutor acknowledging corruption in our system? The man's a unicorn. "You were a defense attorney there. What made you decide to switch sides?" he asked.
"I answered the siren call of your bus and radio ads," I joked.
He laughed. "Seriously though, why? Defending and prosecuting are quite different."
"Just needed a change of pace and scenery. New country, new job."
He nodded. "Fair enough." He sighed. "Honestly, when I saw your application, I was a little hesitant. You have a Japanifornian law degree but lack experience in our courts. As you seem to have gathered from our advertising though, we're in a bit of a bind."
"Why is that, if you don't mind me asking? I've always heard that prosecutors here made the big bucks and had the better work-life balance."
"We've cleaned house quite a bit since I've taken over as Chief." His voice lowered. "I'm not sure if you've heard of any controversies over the past few years."
I matched his tone. "What kind of controversies?"
"Well, Prosecutor von Karma, Manfred not Franziska, that is. He murdered a defense attorney 17 years ago and was found to have tampered with evidence."
I laughed. "I could have told you that."
"What do you mean?"
Right. He didn't know I had faced von Karma's wrath and blatant cheating many a time before. "Just heard it through the grapevine. Back when I was in law school."
He nodded. "I don't like to pay attention to rumors, but sometimes they do turn out to be true. Then, there was the Chief Prosecutor before me. She's in prison now under similar circumstances. The former Chief of Police, same thing."
I had heard about Lana. She moved from the police department to the prosecutor's office, but she was arrested about two years into her tenure as Chief Prosecutor. Evidence tampering and obstruction of justice charges landed her in prison.
The charges should have amounted to three years soaking wet, especially since it appeared that she had done those things under the duress of her former boss. However, she had to serve seven years, with no chance of parole, and was stripped of her police badge and law license. They obviously wanted to make an example out of her.
"Did those incidents really make you that short-staffed? Don't get me wrong; those scandals are horrible. However, you filled in for the last Chief Prosecutor, so that should leave you only one lawyer short."
He sighed. "Those three were bad enough, but there's more, unfortunately. Have you heard of Redd White?"
"Yeah, I think I've heard the name before," I said, through gritted teeth.
"Basically, this guy went to jail for murder, and his multi-million-dollar company dissolved. It had been alleged that he had bribed many elected officials, lawyers, and police officers. There was no proof, so we ignored the rumors, at first. Then, these cases happened, and we finally put forth an internal investigation. Long story short, 18 lawyers were dismissed."
I shook my head. "That's...insane." So, Mia's work did cause more ripples of change than I thought. "I appreciate your candor, but I'm honestly surprised that you're telling me all this."
He smiled. "I just don't want there to be any illusions about the kind of operation we run here now. I have zero tolerance for that kind of behavior."
"I assure you; there won't be any problems from me."
He leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. "Alright, we'll give you a go."
Date: Wednesday, September 12th, 2018
Time: 3:32 pm
Location: Los Tokyo Maximum Security Women's Prison
After I passed the interview, I still had to go through the screening process. Changing my name to avoid any association with my identity ended up being a bigger pain in the ass than I anticipated. The prosecutor's office needed copies of my law license, my law degree, a criminal background check, and two references.
The paperwork was annoying, but straightforward at least. I had to legally change my name and then make changes to my degree and license, which took time, but ultimately was not an issue.
The references were a little more complicated. I had said that I had worked in the Dominican for eight years so I couldn't use Grossberg. I told the Chief Prosecutor that I'd have to check in with my references before using them and would give him the contact information later.
I tried to dissuade him from calling references, saying that they didn't speak English very well. However, he said that it was no issue. They'll just get a translator when they conduct the reference checks. God damn it.
So, I made two fake email addresses and two fake names, and ordered two burner phones online from the Dominican so I could be my own references. It seemed a little scuzzy given this new era of honest and uncorrupted law we're supposedly in, but I didn't really have much of a choice. It gave me a chance to use my Spanish and practice my impression work, at least.
I was always pretty good at imitating people and picking up accents. I decided to have fun with it and made one of my references female too, just for the challenge. Not exactly playing it safe, but maybe some of my old hotshot lawyer's confidence was being restored. I must have done fine enough voice acting work because I was officially hired and started the day after Labor Day.
The prosecutor's office was a whole different world compared to my time at Grossberg Law Offices. The starting salary was on par with my senior salary and the benefits were better. Two extra weeks of vacation, paid sick days, and a better health insurance plan.
Everyone started with their own private office too; no slumming it in the commons until an office freed up. This wasn't just because they were short-staffed either. There were tons of vacant offices in the building.
They seemed to have entered the 21st century too. They had top-of-the-line computers, used video conferencing instead of telephone conferencing, and completed all their research and paperwork digitally. Grossberg was stuck in the 80s and 90s. He insisted on printing everything; utilizing reams and reams of paper and thousands of pages of printed documents.
I had tried to steer him paperless, just from a budgetary and efficiency standpoint, but he couldn't be convinced. Our computers were so old and laggy that it was technically more efficient to print than work online, but new computers for the office would have been more cost-effective in the long run.
Despite how desperate they were for lawyers, the expectation of unpaid overtime was non-existent, and they still maintained a lengthy orientation period for new hires. I wouldn't serve on a single case nor do anything classified as real work for the first three weeks. In contrast, I started at Grossberg Law Offices as a law school intern, and they basically just threw me into contracts halfway through my first day, really putting that cheap labor to work.
Working here, I started feeling like a bit of a sucker. I became a defense lawyer to help people and give them a fair shake at trial, but it came at the cost of my sanity, my sleep, and my personal life. This whole time, I could have been living the good life in the prosecutor's office, making big bucks, only working 9-5, and winning almost all my cases without much effort.
I don't think the lawyers here know how good they have it. In fairness to them, they have nothing to compare it to. Ira, the prosecutor who's been orientating me since my first day, is in his late 50s and has been working here his whole career. He probably makes 50% more than I do, has one of the best offices in the building, and has twice the vacation days. Yet, on the drive over, he spent most of the time whining about the job.
We were heading to the Los Tokyo Maximum Security Women's Prison today. As part of my orientation, I had to pay a visit to all the prisons and detention centers in the area. Sometimes, in our role as prosecutors, we have to meet with the accused or be present at parole hearings.
I'll be honest, I was a little nervous about this prison trip in particular. Dahlia is set to be executed soon, but she's still alive and this is where she's being held until then. I asked Ira how long the visit should take, and he said only about a half hour. That wasn't a long time, but I wouldn't be able to feel at ease until we were out of there.
Ira showed me around the facility: the commissary, the visiting area, and the cells, before we landed in the common area. Seated at one of the bolted-down tables in there, in a striped jumpsuit, and reading a newspaper was Lana. I stared at her, but she didn't look up.
"Is it okay if I talk to her?" I asked. "I know her."
Ira looked over. "Oh, it's Lana. You know her too?"
I nodded. "I used to."
He checked his watch. "Sure, but make it quick. I'm not working a minute after 5:00 and I still have to drive you back to the office."
I smirked. "I promise that I'll keep it brief."
"You better," he warned. "I'll go grab a snack from the commissary. Let me know if you need back-up. The women in here are feisty," he joked.
When he turned around, I rolled my eyes before walking towards her. "Hey, stranger," I said casually.
Lana looked up from the newspaper. She squinted at me for a moment and then had a look of recognition. "Diego?" she asked disbelievingly.
I nodded in agreement before sitting down across from her. "If the guy I'm here with comes by though, I'm Godot now."
"Godot? Like the play?"
I chuckled. "You take some English lit classes in college?"
She smiled. "A couple. I hated that play. Why did you change your name though? Why are you here? When did you even wake up?"
"It's a long story; I'm a prosecutor now, and five months ago."
"Wow, five months and you didn't think to visit your old pal Lana," she joked.
"I meant to. I only got out of the hospital two months ago." I may have said that, but I don't know if I was being truthful. I probably should have come by. I knew she was in prison, and I had read her case files. While Lana and I always got along well, there was a bit of unspoken tension between us. Probably because I had been playing with her favorite toy.
"Sure," she said skeptically, elongating the word.
"Sorry, I'm a bad friend," I said remorsefully.
"Ah, it's okay. We were never really that close anyway," she teased.
I smirked. "So, how's prison treating you?" I asked, wincing after I said it. What is she possibly supposed to say to that?
"Oh, it's just grand," she said sarcastically.
"Sorry, stupid question. It's hard to make small talk when you've been asleep for five years. You miss a few things."
She laughed. "I'm just being a jerk. Obviously, I don't love it here, but Gant kind of forced my hand."
"What happened exactly? I saw your case file, but it's hard to get all the details."
She smiled mischievously. "So, you did catch up somewhat then?" she asked rhetorically. "Like you, it's a long story. Bottom line, Gant knew how much I love Ema and would do anything for her, and he exploited that weakness. Now, I'm here."
"I'm so sorry," I said apologetically.
"Thanks. I could say the same to you. I'm sure you've had a tough time too."
I shook my head. "Yeah, it's been rough. Not going to lie. When I heard about Mia..." I swallowed. "It broke me."
She nodded sympathetically. "Me too. I wish I had spent more time with her before she died. Maybe I could have helped."
"I think that same thing every day. When was the last time you saw her?" I asked.
"This sounds bad, but about a year and a half before she died."
"Really? That long?"
She frowned. "I know. There's really no excuse. I'll say, at the time, that Chief Prosecutor job, raising Ema, and keeping up with Gant's demands were killing me."
"Actually, I wanted to ask you about that. When you were Chief Prosecutor, Mia was murdered. Why did you allow Maya to go to trial for the crime?"
"I know it sounds crazy, but it was my only choice. Either press charges and proceed with the case or drop the case completely and consider it cold. The police could only identify Maya as a suspect at the time, and I wanted Mia to get justice, so I had to press forward and hope that they'd find the true culprit. Thankfully, it all worked out."
"That makes sense," I agreed. I couldn't argue with her logic. That is what happened after my poisoning. If Dahlia hadn't acted again, I would have never seen justice.
Speak of the devil. Behind Lana, and in the corner of my eye, I saw Dahlia walk by, chatting with a dark-haired woman. I averted my eyes and ducked my head down behind Lana until she walked out of the common area. Even after she left, I was still shaky.
"Are you okay?" she asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
I looked up. "I really hoped and prayed that I wouldn't see her here today."
"Who?" She paused thoughtfully. "Dahlia?" she asked. I nodded. "She'll be dead soon at least. I think her mom is slated for some time next year too."
"Is her mom here too?"
"Yeah. This is the only maximum-security women's prison in the country."
I shook my head. "That must have been who she was talking to. Another woman was walking with her, but I didn't get a good look."
"Probably," Lana concurred. "They're always talking."
"That can't be good. Put those two together and there's nothing but trouble to follow."
She laughed. "I think you might be a little paranoid. What can they possibly get up to in here?"
"I don't know, but I don't trust it." I thought for a moment. "Can you do me a favor?" I asked. She nodded. "Can you keep an eye on them for me and let me know if you see or hear anything suspicious? Morgan tried to frame Maya before, and I wouldn't put it past her to try something again."
"Of course. How can I get in touch?" she asked.
I pulled out a business card and handed it to her. I got a whole box of them yesterday, hot off the presses. I was able to convince the secretary to just put the nickname on there. "My number's on here. Call anytime and I'll get here when I can."
She looked at the card and grinned. "I still can't believe you're a prosecutor now. You've turned to the dark side."
"I know. Couldn't go back to the old firm after Mia died," I said solemnly.
Her smile faded. "I don't blame you." She turned her head to look behind me. "Did Ira bring you here?"
"Yeah, why do you ask?"
"Well, he appears to be tapping his foot impatiently, waiting for you."
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, if we're late getting back, he'll miss watching his reruns of M*A*S*H."
She snickered. "I won't keep you then. I definitely don't miss my time at the prosecutor's office. See you later, Diego."
"Take care, Lana."