Mourning in Los Angeles

The pain I felt in my left shoulder from the bullet hurt like hell. But it was nothing compared to the pain I felt in my heart after getting 18 year old Benny Carzo off for murder.
It had all started nine and a half months ago when Maria Carzo, Benny's mother, walked in to my small office in downtown LA.
"I'm looking for the lawyer, Jack Mourning." She said standing in the doorway.
I jumped up from my desk, perhaps a little too eagerly, because she put a hand to her chest and took a step back as if I was going to attack her.
I slowed my pace, stuck out my hand and said,¡± I¡¯m Jack Mourning. How can I help you?"
For a small woman, she had a good strong handshake. I guessed her age to be somewhere in the early fifties. She had olive skin and black hair and wore a blue dress faded with age.
She was the first client to walk through my door here in LA. I had moved my office from Fresno to here a month before in search of bigger cases.
I lead her to a chair in front of my desk and she sat. I sat behind the desk.
" What can I do for you?" I asked.
She told me that her son, Benny, had been arrested for the murder of a cab driver named Porter Johnson, who had befriended Benny and was teaching him the cabbie trade.
She did not want a public defender for her son, so she took a second mortgage on her house and came to me.
"How did you hear about me Miss.Carzo?"
"My sister Carmen in Fresno. She that that you were good and..." She caught herself.
I finished for her, ... ¡°And cheap?"
She blushed and smiled at me.
I took the case. Met Benny, a bright kid with good grades, and really got to like him over the months preparing for his trial.
The case against Benny was all based on circumstantial evidence, and it didn't take the jury long to see things my way.
Benny was acquitted.
Benny's family and friends had a big welcome home party for him. We ate and drank, and drank. The more Benny became drunk; I began to see changes in his personality. A darker side I didn't not see while he was sober in jail.
I admit that I was pretty tipsy my self that night, but on a hunch, I followed Benny in to the kitchen and asked him if he had killed Porter Johnson. He leaned in to me and said, " Yeah I killed him. He called me stupid." He turned and walked away
I sobered up real fast and hit him in the back of is head with my beer can.
"You little punk bastard." I said to him. " You are stupid."
He took a step toward me and that is when I saw the killer in him.
"Never call me stupid." He said pushing past me and headed toward the backyard.
I left theirs house feeling dirty and used. My first big LA case had blood all over it. I would have to live with that the rest of my life.
For the next five days, after Benny's confession, I carried a gun with me to work in my brief case. One in the office I would put the gun in my desk.
When Benny came in on the fifth day, he shot me before I could go for the gun.
The sound of the shot caused a woman to scream in a near by office and I could hear people
running down the hall to escape.
Someone must have tripped and hit my door. The sound made Benny turn to look. It was all the time I needed. I shot him four times in the chest. He died falling to the ground.
I looked at the bullet whole in my arm and at the dead body in from of my desk. I could hear sirens stopping in front of the building.
I shook my head and said to myself:¡± Welcome to LA Mourning."
Then I passed out.