Pain for the Prosecution

Assistant district attorney Kristen Pain sent criminals to jail -- and then went to jail herself.

Guerinot disagrees, pointing out that Pain has apologized, been jailed and publicly humiliated. "What more do they want?" he asks. "She never denied responsibility. She's done everything that she ought to do, and I think that should be the end of it. For god's sake, if you make a mistake and you can't come back from it, I think we're all doomed."

Shortly after their arrest, Pain and Langham checked into separate drug and alcohol rehabilitation centers. They say they've been clean and sober for the past seven months.ooooooo Pain says she's glad the hypocrisy of prosecuting drug users is behind her. And though she misses her former colleagues, she's happy to no longer be involved in the drinking life that was so much a part of her time as a prosecutor.

"The law-enforcement culture is a drinking culture," she says. "I think that has something to do with what you have to deal with every day. It's a release. You celebrate a win, and you drown your sorrow in a loss."

She recalls that she and her friends used to meet almost every day after work at a bar on Market Square, and that they'd joke they were alcoholics. She says she's lucky she never killed anyone while driving home. And -- though she knows it sounds like self-serving pathos -- she says she's glad her darker side was finally revealed.

Jail, says Pain, was educational: "It was interesting for me to see the other side."

Like other female inmates who have been in law enforcement or have family members in law enforcement, Pain was placed in a protective-custody cellblock. Rather than risk her safety by mingling with the jail's general population in the law library or during recreation time, Pain remained in her cellblock, leaving only for daily visits with Langham.

To compensate for her lack of physical activity, she ran in place for 45 minutes twice a day and used the cell bars and her bunk to do basic floor exercises. "It was funny because some of the other girls started working out with me," she remembers. "I started getting everybody in shape and telling them what they could and couldn't eat. It was kind of neat."

Now that Pain is out, Langham is due to begin serving his own 45-day sentence. While he's behind bars, Pain will handle his performance-enhancement clients.

The couple is full of plans for their life after his release. They hope to fulfill their community-service requirement by speaking to at-risk groups, such as teenagers, about the low side of the high life. They want to write a "physique transformation system and success guide," which they hope to market through the Internet. And they'd like to write another book about their run-in with the law.

Pain is uncertain about her future as a lawyer. According to the Texas State Bar, serving any time in jail is grounds for disbarment. But so far, Pain has heard nothing from the Bar, and she hopes she'll keep her license.

She says she has no plans to practice law again, though in a strange way, her drug conviction has opened up a new career possibility. "All the defense attorneys I've talked to," she says, "say I'd make a great defense attorney now.

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