I’m sitting in div 30 at the CCB doing my duty the other afternoon.  Extremely slow being just before Christmas (because people are more circumspect about committing crimes or the cops aren’t making the arrests or the DA’s aren’t filing – don’t know) but I’m so bored – looking at my phone waiting for it to ring – then Arthur Famish appears.  Arthur (he’s a guy you never call Artie or Art by the way) is what I call an old timer. A criminal lawyer for over 50 years.  Everybody knows Arthur.  A big man who wears a ratty old vest with a ratty old suit that’s several sizes too small and holes in his pants like they were designer jeans.  Arthur knows the law like nobody I know.  He knows everything.  And Arthur always has a story. “I ever tell you about my Christmas homicide?” 

I don’t know if I want to listen to a long story.  He insists – “this is a real Christmas tale I’m telling you.”  He pulls his chair up close to me.  I remind him that neither one of us celebrates Christmas.  “What are you so busy?  Don’t be such a kvetch – you’ll love this. The police report starts out with this really nasty fight between two Latina girls – they’re trying to kill each other – they’re on the floor they’re biting, kicking, punching, pulling hair.  It’s brutal.  On Christmas Eve can you imagine?  At some Taco Bell in East LA.  Now isn’t that a great start to a Christmas tale?”