"This nut thinks it's the CIA ."

"Well, that'll be an interesting case," Carlos said.

"Except it's not ours. Assigned to Judge Jackson. Government filed a Motion to Dismiss."

"What else?" Scott said.

Bobby thumbed again. "Black activist group is also suing the Feds, alleges that the federal government used discriminatory crack cocaine sentences to put young black males in prison to keep the black population down. Says it worked. And now the Latino population has overtaken the black population and is enjoying the political power blacks should have."

"It's true," Louis said. "Every homeboy I grew up with is in prison for crack. White boy in North Dallas snorted powder cocaine, he got probation. Black boys in South Dallas smoked crack, they got twenty years. Ain't no . . ." He glanced at Karen and grimaced. "Aren't many babies in South Dallas."

Karen gave him an approving smile.

"But the Supreme Court said the sentence disparity between crack and powder cocaine was discriminatory," Scott said.

"He's suing over the last twenty years," Bobby said. "It'll be dismissed."

"Can I read the brief?" Louis said.

"May I read the brief," Karen said.

Bobby gave her a confused look. "Why do you want to read the brief?"

"I don't. I was correcting Louis's grammar. He said 'can.' It should be 'may.' "

"May I read the brief?" Louis said.

Bobby turned back to him. "No."

"Why not?"

"Also not our case. Assigned to Judge Porter."

"What else?" Scott said.

"The president's executive order. He directed Homeland Security to stop deporting Mexicans residing here illegally if they have clean criminal records."

"Leaves me out," Carlos said.

"Essentially, he granted amnesty to twelve million illegal immigrants." Bobby shrugged. "It's an election year. Twenty-six states sued him. They contend that, A, the EO is unconstitutional, and B, they'll have to incur billions in additional costs for education, health care, and law enforcement. The lead plaintiff is the State of Texas."

"That's a hot potato case," Karen said. "No matter how the judge rules, half the people in America are going to hate her."

There was only one female federal judge in the district.

"Garza's got the case?"

"She does," Karen said. "I talked with her clerk. She's catching some serious heat from Latino activists."

"I don't envy her," Scott said. "Making the tough decisions is hard enough without having your own people putting pressure on you."

"It's called being a federal judge," Bobby said.

"So it is."

"So we don't got none of those cases?" Carlos said.

Carlos had not engaged Karen for grammatical tutoring.

"Nope," Bobby said.

Carlos groaned. "Them senior judges grab all the good cases. All we get is motions, motions, motions-I'm so tired of motions."

"Let me rephrase," Scott said. "What is on our docket?"

"Motions."

Now the room groaned. Motions-requests for the court to do something, such as postpone the trial, dismiss a case, force a party to produce evidence-inundated the federal court with paper and rendered judges referees in a boxing match; but instead of throwing punches at each other, the lawyers threw motions. Bobby flipped the pages.

"Motion for Continuance ... Motion to Dismiss ... Motion for Injunction ... Motion for Summary Judgment ... Response to Motion for Summary Judgment ... Reply to Response to Motion for Summary Judgment ... Motion to Compel ..."

"Not another discovery dispute?"

" 'Fraid so. Seems the defendant's lawyer-Sid Greenberg, you might remember him-delivered the plaintiff's discovery requests."

Sid Greenberg had been an associate assigned to Scott at Ford Stevens. Scott had taught Sid everything he knew.

"Three hundred thousand documents."

"And the one damaging document is hidden in there somewhere, if only the plaintiff can find it?" Scott said.

"Yep." Bobby turned his eyes down to the docket sheet, but said, "Wonder who taught Sid that fun little tactic?"

Scott shook his head. "God, I was a sleazy lawyer."

"You were a rich lawyer."

"That's what I said."

"What did you always tell us?" Karen said. She had also been one of Scott's associates at Ford Stevens. "If you want odds, go to Vegas. If you want a chance to get filthy rich by the time you're forty, hire on with Ford Stevens."

Louis and Carlos laughed.

"That's a good line, Judge," Carlos said.

"You're forty and not rich," Bobby said. "Guess you should've gone to Vegas."

More laughter from the cheap seats.

"Bobby, tell Sid to forget everything I taught him. And then tell him I'll sanction his client for every billable hour it takes the plaintiff's lawyers to go through those documents. So he might want to rethink his discovery response."

Bobby smiled and thumbed again. "And we have competing Proposed Scheduling Orders in the Davis case."

"Tell them it's their case, make their own agreement. They don't need me until trial. Tell them we're not refereeing the case. Tell them they'd better agree."

"And we've got our weekly Motion for Protective Order in the patent case."

Another groan from the room.

"Man, I hate patent cases," Carlos said. "They're patented boring."

That brought a chuckle from Louis.

"That one's yours, Bobby," Scott said.

For $185,012 a year, magistrate judges handled everything district judges didn't want to handle.

"And more Motions for Summary Judgment, in the Robinson and Simpson cases. Both over two hundred pages with appendices."

"We'll have five hundred civil cases on our docket this year, and the lawyers will file competing summary judgment motions in every case. Is it malpractice if they don't?"

"Must be."

"It takes so much time to review these motions. Less time just to try the case."

"Yeah, but the lawyers are being paid a thousand dollars an hour."

"Okay, Karen, those are ours. You pick one, give me the other."

"No murder, no mayhem, no nothing?" Carlos said. "Man, that's gonna be a boring week. Like this week. Tax fraud, bank fraud, securities fraud, patent infringement ... boring white collar crimes by boring white guys."

"You want excitement or financial security?" Scott said.

"Financial security," Karen said.

"Spoken like a mother."

"Nice to have a steady paycheck, Judge," Carlos said. "But, damn, I need an adrenaline boost."

"Louis?"

"I concur."

"With who ... whom?" He caught Karen smiling. "Karen or Carlos?"

"Both."

"Bobby?"

Bobby's eyes went from Louis to Carlos to Karen. Bailiff to paralegal to wife. Wise man that he was, he went with his wife.

"I've never had a regular paycheck before, so it is nice. But my street clients provided a bit more excitement. Like Carlos here."

Carlos grinned. "Hombre, I led an exciting life back then. Sticking up a convenience store with a toy gun, that'll boost your adrenaline."

"Why a toy gun?" Karen said.

"M madre, she would not let me have a real gun. She was worried I might shoot myself."

"As opposed to someone else?" Bobby said.

Scott sighed. As a hotshot partner at Ford Stevens, he had enjoyed an adrenaline charged albeit ethically challenged legal career. Excitement was never missing from his life; and whenever he felt boredom creeping in, all he had to do was take the Ferrari for a spin on the North Dallas Tollway. It was marvelous. He had become accustomed to marvelous; now all he got was mundane. Sam Buford said he had saved six innocent defendants from wrongful conviction. Six lives in thirty-two years. Now Scott knew what Judge Buford had done the rest of the time: suffered boredom. Scott had not done much good, not in his first year on the bench. He was just moving cases through the machine that is the federal judiciary. He was not saving people's lives; he was sorting corporations' money. It was as if the legal system existed to divvy up billions of dollars among multinational conglomerates. He would sentence a hundred defendants that year. He would make sure they were all guilty. But most of his time would be refereeing lawsuits brought by one corporation against another corporation, legal fictions fighting over real money like lions over a dead carcass. There was a place for that fight in a civilized society, and that place was a courtroom.

But was it his place?

He had settled into an ethical if unexciting life as a federal judge. The ethics of the job made him proud as a lawyer, and the financial security made him grateful as a man and provider for his daughters, but he had to confess: a little excitement would be a nice change of pace. He stood and stuffed a handful of toffees into his pocket.

"Maybe Pajamae will give us a little excitement at the game."

Pajamae Jones-Fenney stood five feet five inches tall. Her soft brown hair was cut in a bob, which made her look even more like her mother. Her tan skin glowed with sweat, and the braces on her teeth sparkled. She was thirteen years old and in seventh grade. She was the best player on the court and the only black girl. She was the star for the Highland Park Middle School basketball team. She wore number twenty-three, Michael Jordan's number.

"Go, Pajamae!"

Barbara Boo Fenney sat next to her father and cheered for her sister, who was now racing down the court with the ball. A defender fronted her; Pajamae faked left, made a sharp ball move, and broke hard to the right. The defender tried to adjust but could not; she fell to the floor. The crowd "oohed."

"Ankle-breaker!" Boo screamed.

Pajamae made an easy layup just as the buzzer sounded to signal halftime. Her teammates high-fived her. Louis and Carlos tried to start a wave through the crowd, but other than their group, no one joined in.

"The hell's wrong with white people?" Carlos said.

The Highland Park girls led 35-16. Pajamae had scored twenty-eight points. She jogged to the bench but glanced up at her family in the stands filled with wealthy white people. She offered a big smile and a wave. Once the braces did their work, she would have teeth like pearls. Just as her father had promised.

"Girl's got game," Louis said.

"A. Scott, can we go for pizza after the game?" Boo asked.

"Sure."

On weekends they did pizza out and movies in. Or movies out and pizza in. But never both out.

"You guys want anything from the concession stand?"

"I'll go, Judge," Louis said.

"I got it," Scott said.