“Blumberg, I’ve got a flat yard, period. Not a nickel more. And I want a guarantee I get my dog back.”

“Are you crazy? No guarantees-that’s a rule of the profession. Why, I could be disbarred for even mentioning such a thing.”

“You mean you’re not?”

“That’s not funny, Burke. That matter was dismissed. All the baseless allegations of misconduct on my part have been expunged from the record.”

“What about the allegations that weren’t baseless?”

“Burke, if you’re going to have a negative attitude about this, we simply cannot do business.”

“Sam, come on, I’m serious. I know you’re the best in the business when you want to be. This isn’t some skell who’s going to Riker’s Island for a year. My dog didn’t do anything-and those bastards at the ASPCA are liable to gas her if I don’t get her out.”

“Oh, a death penalty case, is it? Well, normally I charge seven and a half for capital cases, but seeing as it’s you, I’ll take the case for the five hundred you offered. You got it on you?”

“Sam, I said a yard, not five. I’ll make it a deuce-that’s the best I can do. Half in front, half when it’s over.”

“Are you completely insane, my boy? Be reasonable. Where would I be if I allowed my clients to withhold half of the fee until they were satisfied?”

“You’d be working on fifty per cent of your usual gross.”

“I’m going to ignore that comment in view of the fact that you are obviously grief-stricken over the potential loss of your beloved pet. And, my boy, it just so happens you’re in luck. Justice Seymour is sitting in criminal court tonight because of the crowded calendar. Since he’s a judge of the supreme court, we won’t have to wait until morning to bring on your Application for Relief.”

And it went just like Blumberg said. He was too slick to try and put the case on the calendar since night court is only for arraignments, so he waited until he was in front of the judge on a shoplifting case. Before the poor defendant even knew who his lawyer was, Blumberg, the D.A., and the judge had swiftly converted the case to Disorderly Conduct. The defendant was hit with a $50 fine and a conditional discharge and was led over to the clerk’s bench while still trying to thank Blumberg for saving him from the ten years in prison the fat man had assured him was a distinct possibility. Then Blumberg pulled his vest down over a bulging stomach, cleared his throat with such authority that the entire court quieted down, and addressed the judge in a resonant baritone:

“Your Honor, at this time, I have an extraordinary application to make on behalf of my client, who is, at this very moment, incarcerated and awaiting execution.”

The judge looked staggered. His cronies over at the supreme court had told him anything could happen at night arraignments, but nothing he had heard prepared him for this. He looked up sharply at Blumberg, and in a voice designed to display a mixture of pure contempt laced with intimidation, said, “Counselor, surely you realize that this court is not the appropriate forum to bring such a matter.”

Blumberg was not deterred. “Your Honor, if the court please. Your Honor is a supreme court justice and, might I add, a most eminent legal scholar. Indeed, I know from personal knowledge that Your Honor’s landmark legal opinions have been required reading for students of the law for many years. As a sitting supreme court justice, Your Honor has jurisdiction over properly presented extraordinary writs, and Your Honor should be aware that this matter is one of the most dire urgency, threatening, as it surely does, the very life of my client.”

The judge attempted to intercede, saying, “Counselor, if you please,” but he might as well have been trying to keep a hungry rat away from cheese. Blumberg brushed aside the judge’s feeble attempts to halt the lava-flow of his rhetoric, simultaneously firing his masterstroke.

“Your Honor, if the court please. A life is a sacred thing-it is not to be trampled upon or trifled with. The public’s faith in the criminal justice system must be ever vigilantly protected, and who is better cast in the role of protector than a justice of our supreme court? Your Honor, my client faces death-a vicious and ignominious death at the hands of agents of the State. My client has done no wrong, and yet my client may die this very night if Your Honor does not hear my plea. The members of the press”-here Blumberg indicated by a sweep of his hand the single Daily News stringer as if the poor kid were an entire gallery of eager scribes-“questioned me about this matter before I entered this august courtroom, and even such hardened men as they wondered how such a thing as summary execution without trial could actually take place in these United States. Your Honor, this is America, not Iran!” At this, the ragged collection of lames, losers, and lumpen proletariat began to stir, their mumbled snarling energizing Blumberg like a blood transfusion. “Even the lowliest cur is entitled to due process-even the poorest among us is entitled to his day in court. If Your Honor will only permit me to expound upon the facts in this case, I am certain Your Honor will see fit-”

“Counselor. Counselor, please. I have yet to understand what you are talking about and, as you well know, our docket is quite crowded this evening. But in the interests of justice, and upon your representation that you will be brief, I will hear your application.”

Blumberg ran his hand through what was left of his mangy hair, took a deep breath, paused to be certain every eye and ear was focused on him, and then shot ahead. “Your Honor, last night the premises in which my client was working were invaded by armed police officers. These officers were not armed with warrants; they were not armed with probable cause; they were not armed with justification for their acts. But they were armed with deadly weapons, Your Honor. The door was kicked in-my client was forcibly and physically attacked-and when he valiantly sought to resist an illegal arrest, the police called in additional agents and brutally shot my client with a so-called tranquilizer gun, rendering him insensible and unable to resist. My client was then dragged down the stairs and into a cage, and is now being held against his will. I am told that my client will be summarily executed, perhaps even this very night, unless this court intervenes to prevent a tragedy.”

“Mr. Blumberg, this is a shocking accusation you make. I know of no such event. What is your client’s name?”

“My client’s name is… uh, my client’s name is Doberman, Your Honor.”

“Doberman, Doberman. What kind of… what is your client’s first name, if you please?”

“Well, Your Honor, I am not actually aware of my client’s full name at this time. However, my client’s owner is present in court,” gesturing over to me, “and will provide that information.”

“Your client’s owner? Counselor, if this is your idea of a joke-”

“I assure you it is no joke, Your Honor. Perhaps you have read about this case in the late papers?”

Suddenly, the light dawned. “Counselor, are you by any chance referring to the police attempt to apprehend a fugitive from justice early this evening on the Lower East Side?”

“Exactly and precisely, Your Honor.”

“But the fugitive escaped, I read.”

“Yes, Your Honor, the fugitive escaped-but my client did not. And my client is being held at the ASPCA, through no fault of his own, and will be executed unless he can be returned to his rightful owner.”

“Mr. Blumberg! Are you saying that your client is a dog? You invade my courtroom with a writ of habeus corpus for a dog?”

“Your Honor, with all due respect, I prefer to refer to this extraordinary application as a writ of habeus canine, in view of the unique nature of my client herein.”