by Keeland, Vi
He shrugged. “She hates fighting. A couple of times she was around when kids got into it. Those are pretty much the only times I’ve seen her get really mad. She also doesn’t answer her phone when her dad calls most of the time, and she’s got bad taste in music.”
“What kind of music does she listen to?”
The kid made a face. “What, are you writing a book?”
Luckily the guard saved the little pain in the ass from any more interrogation. He opened the door and said, “Let’s go, Storm. Showtime.”
I folded the leather book where I’d jotted down a few things I wanted to remember and stood with my client. “Don’t forget, I don’t care what the judge says to you or about you, you don’t say a word without my permission.”
He frowned, but nodded as he walked out.
Back upstairs, I made a pit stop in the men’s room before heading to room 219, where Storm’s arraignment would be held in about fifteen minutes. I perked up upon finding a certain redheaded social worker sitting on a bench outside the room. Autumn was scribbling on a pad on her lap, so she didn’t see me approach.
“Good morning.”
She blinked her big green eyes up at me. “Oh, hi. I’m glad we got to see each other before the hearing.”
“You missed me, huh?” I grinned.
She laughed. “Actually, after I got home last night, I thought of a few things you might want to tell the judge about Storm. I was just writing them down.”
“Let’s see what you got.” I took the seat next to her and put my hand out for her to pass me the list.
Perusing the notes, I already knew most of what she’d written after talking to my client and pulling his rap sheet. Autumn had listed his prior arrests, his mother’s name, and the name of the shrink he was required to see monthly as part of his last plea deal. She also listed his grades. I lifted the paper closer to make sure I read that last part correctly.
“Is this right? His overall average is a ninety-nine?”
Autumn nodded. “And he’s taking all advanced classes, too. The only reason he doesn’t have a hundred is because he got a ninety in gym.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Gym? Seriously? That’s what’s weighing him down?” Last night she’d mentioned the kid was a good student, and when I’d asked him how things were going in school earlier today, he’d grumbled fine. I assumed that meant he wasn’t failing anything, and his grades were probably low seventies.
“He got in trouble twice in gym for pegging kids with a soccer ball, so the teacher lowered his grade. Otherwise he’d have a hundred.”
I shook my head. “His grades are actually good information to mention to this judge. His wife is a teacher, so he gives a lot of weight to how kids do in school. I’ll use it. Thanks.”
As I went to hand Autumn the paper back, something clicked, and I instead pulled it in for closer inspection. Yep, it was her list.
The afternoon of the day we’d met to exchange luggage, I’d gone through her bag. She’d been so adamant that I not look; how could I not? Inside, there was some pretty damn intriguing shit—huge vibrators and whatnot, which I’d later learned had been props for the bachelorette party she’d just returned from. But I’d also come across some sort of a list—a list of excuses, with some crossed out. I’d forgotten all about it until I found it under my bed the following week. It must’ve slipped under there when I was repacking her bag. I had no idea if she’d written the list or what the meaning of it was, but seeing her handwriting made me remember. She had pretty distinct, slanty cursive.
“Are you a lefty?” I asked.
She nodded and held her hand up to show me the back of her wrist. “Was it the ink I always have on the back of my hand or my terrible handwriting that gave it away?”
“The slantiness. My assistant has it, too.”
It had been a long time since I’d perused the list she’d written, so I couldn’t remember most of what was on it. I knew there were some basic excuses, things like: My phone is about to die. Work is calling on the other line. I’m about to go into a building where the service is terrible. But there were also some pretty strange ones, like my fish is drowning.
Autumn tucked the information about Storm back into a folder on her lap and started to say something when her phone rang. Dad flashed on the screen. Remembering what Storm had told me—that she rarely answered the phone when her father called—the frown on her face as she read the name made sense. While she debated answering, a court officer opened the door next to us.
He looked down at his clipboard and yelled to no one in particular, “Case 5487723-B, Storm!”
Autumn glanced over at me and took a deep breath. “That’s us.”
We stood. Her phone was still in her hand and Dad started to flash again. I wasn’t sure if she noticed, so I pointed my eyes down to it. “Do you need to get that first?”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll call him back later.”
The arraignment went pretty smoothly. I entered a plea on behalf of my client, and Storm was released to the custody of the state as represented by social services. He’d also have to report to a JPO—juvenile probation officer. But we’d have a few months before we needed to build a case. Still, the kid needed to keep out of trouble.
Once we’d collected his things from the property room, I asked Autumn if I could have a few minutes alone with my client.
“Sure. Of course.”
I nodded toward the men’s room a few doors down. “Step into my office, little man.”
“Can I take a piss while you chew my ear off?”
“You can wait until I’m done. Let’s go.”
Inside the men’s room, I waited until the guy washing his hands was done and out the door. Then I leaned against a sink and folded my arms across my chest.
“I talked to some people. Sugar didn’t just take your bicycle.” I leveled my client with a glare.
He looked away. “Yeah, he did. He stole my bike.”
“Stole implies he took it without properly compensating you. But that’s not what happened, is it, Storm?”
Early this morning I’d reached out to a friend who still lived in the neighborhood Storm hung out in and asked him to do a little digging. Apparently Sugar was a local dealer. I wasn’t sure what had gone down, but I had a pretty good hunch.
“The guy’s a jerk.”
Storm was a big kid for barely twelve, but I was a little over six foot two. I leaned over with my hands on my thighs and spoke to him at eye level. “I already have the truth. So if you try to lie to me, I’ll know,” I bluffed. “I can’t defend you unless you’re honest with me. You might be able to take care of yourself on the street, but trust me, you’ll be in trouble if they transfer you to a place like Wheatley Juvenile Detention Center. I hear you’re a smart kid. Do you know what recidivism is?”
Storm shook his head.
“It’s when someone repeats a behavior—usually it’s something that was done to them. Eighty percent of the kids over at Wheatley were physically abused or sexually abused as kids. Can you put two plus two together and figure out what I’m telling you happens over at Wheatley?”
The muscle in Storm’s jaw flexed, but he held strong.
“Why don’t we start from the beginning? How much did you owe Sugar?”
He mulled over his answer for a minute before looking down. “Forty.”
I knew it. “He took your bike because you didn’t pay him, and you tried to get it back.”
“I didn’t think he was home. I just wanted my bike back.”
“Do you just smoke weed, or do you do other drugs?”
“Just smoke weed.”
I stared into his eyes for a solid thirty seconds. Street kids were way harder to read than suit-wearing assholes who stole millions, but I was pretty sure he was telling the truth.
I stood and nodded. “Alright. I’ll see what I can do with that information. But you’re on thin ice, kid. You can’t do anything wrong—not buy wee
d, get into another fight, nothing. Hell, don’t even litter.”
He frowned. “Fine.”
I tilted my head toward the door. “Let’s go. Ms. Wilde is waiting.”
As we got to the door to the men’s room, Storm stopped and looked at me. “If you’re my lawyer, we have attorney-client privilege, right?”
The corner of my mouth twitched. Kid was smarter than Mr. Bentley already. “That’s right.”
“So you can’t tell Ms. Wilde I bought weed, right?”
I’d basically told him the place he might get sent was filled with child molesters, and he was more concerned about letting Autumn down. That was my first glimpse of the child still inside that growing body of his.
I put my hand on his shoulder. “You have my word.”
Outside in the hall, Autumn looked between us. “Everything okay?”
I nodded. “All good.”
“The clerk said he has twenty-four hours to register with the juvenile-probation department, but the building is right next door. Do you think it’s okay if we walk over now?”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
Autumn looked at Storm, then me. “Okay, well…say thank you to Mr. Decker.”
The last thing I needed was to be out of the office all morning, but I wasn’t ready to let Autumn walk away again so fast. It wouldn’t be the first time I worked through the night to make up for lost billable hours. “I’ll walk over with you. I know a few of the JPOs. Maybe I can get you in faster.”
“Oh, that would be great, if you don’t mind.”
***
“I didn’t know you did this type of criminal law,” Autumn said. “I thought you did more white-collar crime.”
Autumn and I were sitting in the hall over at the Probation Department while Storm’s new JPO talked to him alone. I had zero reason to be here anymore, now that he was in—well, zero professional reason.
“I do,” I told her. “Haven’t touched anything but money laundering, insider trading, and embezzlement in at least six years. I was an ADA for a year right out of law school prosecuting Class B felonies. Made the switch to the other side and then a year later traded up from street crimes to Wall Street crimes. But one of the partners at my firm asked me to take Storm’s case as part of our pro bono program. He’s actually the one who does regular street-criminal work, but I’m up for partner, and he knows I need his vote, so he dumped it on me.” I caught Autumn’s eye. “I thought the guy was being his usual asshole self, but I’m thinking I might owe him a thanks now.”
She tried to hide her smile by looking down. “What’s the partner’s name who assigned you?”
“Blake Dickson. We call him The Dick, because he is.”
Autumn nodded.
“How was your friend’s wedding? It must’ve happened by now, right? Did the bride do her dance down to the altar?”
Autumn’s mouth dropped open. “She did, and the wedding was a blast, but I can’t believe you remember that.”
“It’s pretty hard to forget a story about a bride planning to dance down the aisle to ‘Crazy Bitch’ by Buckcherry.”
She laughed. “I guess so.”
“Plus…” I caught her eye. “I remember everything about our weekend together.”
I debated saying anything else, but she’d really rocked me when she pulled her disappearing act, and I felt the need to let her know it. So I ignored the fact that I probably sounded like a desperate wuss and cleared my throat. “I remember that you only ever have one earbud in at a time, never two, so you can be aware of your surroundings. But you alternate the right and left one every Sunday—so the other doesn’t feel neglected. You also speed when you go over bridges, just in case they collapse. And you know a crapload of random facts because you have an incessant need to do a deep dive on anything you hear about that you feel like you don’t have enough knowledge on, which causes you to get lost in Google searches for hours. If I’m not mistaken, it was lottery winners after we watched that movie about a guy who won the lottery and lost all his money. You spent an hour telling me about random things that have better odds than winning the lottery while I made us dinner. Also, you sleep with the covers over your head, and you’re so small, it’s hard to tell if you’re in the bed or it’s just a lump of covers.”
Autumn blinked a few times. “How do you know how I sleep? We never slept in the same room except for a few short naps. I slept in your bed, and you slept on the couch.”
I smiled. “I checked on you. I might’ve pulled the covers back and watched you sleep for a minute or two once.”
“That’s kind of creepy...”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay. And then I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. You’re beautiful, even when you sleep.”
She looked away, and when she turned back, she avoided eye contact. “I’m nervous about what’s going to happen to Augustus this time. His last arrest was only a few months ago.”
I guessed that was the end of our trip down memory lane… “I might have something I can use to make this go away.”
“What do you mean?”
“Prosecutors don’t particularly enjoy punishing twelve year olds, especially ones who have potential, like Storm. So if you can bring them something they do enjoy prosecuting, and help them see there’s also a good path for your client without putting him in a juvey detention center or shipping him someplace where he’ll only wind up worse, then usually they’ll work something out.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I’m not following you. Who would they enjoy prosecuting?”
Even without attorney-client privilege, I wasn’t going to break my word to Storm. Kids like him don’t trust easily, so if they so much as smell that you might not have honored your word, you lose them for good.
“Leave it to me, okay?”
She looked wary. “Okay…”
This time, when she tried to look away, I made sure I got through to her. “Autumn?”
She lifted her eyes to meet mine. “Trust me, okay? I’m going to do everything I can for him.”
With a sigh, she nodded. “Okay. Thank you.”
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. Digging it out, I saw that it was the office. I looked over at Autumn. “Excuse me for a minute.”
She nodded, so I swiped to answer and stood, taking a few steps away. “Donovan Decker…”
“Decker, how did the hearing go?”
Yeah, hello to you, too, Mr. Dick.
“Hey, Blake. The hearing went fine. Pretty standard.”
“Will you be able to get the kid off?”
“I’ll do my best. I might have a little leverage to work.”
“You better. There’s a lot riding on this for you.”
Seriously? Seven damn years of pulling in tens of millions on high-profile cases, and my fate comes down to a pro bono case for a twelve-year-old kid I shouldn’t even have while he’s deciding how to vote on whether I make partner or not? I wanted to tell him to eat shit, but instead I ate shit—though I had to physically swallow in order to force down my thoughts and make room for my ass kissing.
“Absolutely, I won’t let you down.”
Click. The asshole hung up on me.
I shook my head and grumbled under my breath. You have a good day, too, Dick.
However aggravated the short conversation had made me, my anger quickly dissipated as I turned around. Autumn had her thick auburn hair in her hand, and she was tying it up in one of those buns girls could do faster than a ninja. She looked beautiful with it down or up, but seeing it piled on top of her head reminded me of the morning I’d woken up and found her standing in front of my stove, cooking while wearing one of my T-shirts. She’d been humming “Little Boxes,” an old song that had made a comeback as the theme song to the show Weeds, and I’d secretly snapped a picture of her. Trent still busted my balls about that pic. I’d showed it to him once, enlarging it so he couldn’t see her bare legs, but it had been in my favorites folder—the only pictu
re I’d ever hit the little heart on and put in there on my iPhone.
I hadn’t realized I’d been staring until Autumn caught me. The corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly, and her head tilted to one side. I walked over, feeling good that she seemed to like me watching her.
“Sorry. That was my office. You must have friends in high places for The Dick to call and check on how things are going. I think that’s the third time the guy has called me in seven years, and this is the second call in twenty-four hours about your case.”
“Hmm…yeah, I guess so.”
“You said your father was a lawyer, right? Is that how you got my firm to take this case? He knows someone? We were closed to accepting any new pro bono cases this year.”
“Actually, it wasn’t through my dad. I sort of know someone at your firm.”
“Sort of know?”
She looked down. “I’m dating one of the attorneys.”
My stomach sank. She was involved with another man? Someone I knew? But if I thought that news was a kick in the gut, I had another thing coming when she dropped the next bomb.
“Which attorney?” I asked.
She winced through a forced smile. “I believe you call him The Dick.”
CHAPTER 5
* * *
Donovan
I sat at my desk with a business card between my fingers, turning it over and over, lost in thought. I didn’t even notice that Juliette had walked in until she planted her ass in one of my chairs.
“Tu en fais une tête,” she said.
“Nah. I’m not in the mood for a handjob. Thanks anyway.”
She laughed. “Why the long face, my friend?”
“Just thinking about a case.”
Juliette was originally from France, but we’d started as summer interns at the firm together, along with Trent and twelve others. The three of us had been the only ones hired that fall, and we’d been tight ever since. She and Trent spent a lot of time talking about their love lives, or lack of, usually—analyzing why their relationships never seemed to work out. I’d comment and give my opinions, but it wasn’t often that we scrutinized my dating life, because for the most part, I’d been relatively happy with how my non-relationships worked out. Today, though, I thought I could use a woman’s opinion…