by Dave Derin
Once I got back to the office, I headed straight back to the kitchenette and grabbed a clean coffee mug. The morning receptionist would start the drip coffee pot before everyone else arrived each day, and luckily there was just enough hot brew left to fill my mug. I unscrewed the cap, carefully poured the scalding liquid into it, and replaced the black plastic lid. There was a plastic container full of blueberry muffins with a small, handwritten sign that said HELP YOURSELF! in bright blue ink, so I snagged one of the largest muffins and a napkin then made my way back to my office. I closed the door behind me with my foot, walked back to my desk, set the muffin on the napkin, and then placed the coffee mug on the corner of my desk to cool.
I strolled over to the round table and selected a case file from the scattered pile on my meeting table, then flipped open the cover and began to review the evidence. James Edwin Moton, African American male, age 25, charged with criminal domestic violence and sexual assault against his now-ex girlfriend. He’d pleaded not guilty at his arraignment, but on the inside cover of the file I noticed a handwritten reminder on a bright yellow sticky note with a settlement hearing location, date, and time.
Great. I hated sexual assault cases, not because I was squeamish, but because it took all of my self-control not to beat the brakes off those weak assholes. It takes a certain type of loser to hit a woman, and I was raised never to strike a lady, no matter what the situation. At least Ames had already negotiated a settlement with the prosecutor so it would have a quick resolution.
I closed the thin file and tossed it on the floor. I needed to make sure Elizabeth had entered all of these new hearing dates on my calendar and updated the court that I was now the lead attorney on all these cases.
I stood up, stretched my arms high above my head, and grunted as the pain released from my lower back. I meandered over to the stacks of files and selected another one to review. I continued to labor over the files and found a few that were actually interesting, like an alleged bank robber who had hotel receipts, photos, and video that possibly proved he was out of the country at the time of the crime.
I checked my phone and discovered it was already 4:40 p.m. I couldn’t stop thinking about my meeting with Susanna, and knew I had to get some solid proof that would actually hold up to Swinger’s inquisition, as well as in federal court. I dialed Claire’s number and fiddled with a pen on my desk as the phone rang.
“I was wondering when you’d call,” she answered breathily after it rang a few times.
“Well, it’s been a busy day here at the office,” I kidded with her as I stood up and walked around my desk while I twisted the pen between my fingers. “So, Claire, I know we just saw each other last night, and this is totally just a casual thing, but I was wondering if you would have time to discuss what we were talking about last night some more. How would you like to join me for a little business dinner this evening?”
“Hmm,” she pondered my request. “Well, I do really want to try that new pizza place down on Elm. It’s a block over from Belo Park,” she answered decisively. “We can just walk from my place instead of having to deal with parking downtown. It’s supposed to be pretty nice outside tonight.”
“Pizza sounds great to me,” I replied, thankful she hadn’t chosen some granola vegan restaurant. Not that there was anything wrong with being a vegan, I just prefered my meals with a bit of meaty protein. “I just need to hop in the shower and change quickly when I get home, then I’ll head over there. Does seven o’clock work for you?”
“Sounds like a plan,” she replied cheerfully. “I left work early so I’m already home. I’ll just meet you downstairs then, and we can walk over.”
“Perfect, I’ll see you soon, sugar britches.”
My friend let out a throaty giggle then hung up the phone. At least I could still make her laugh.
I jumped in the shower almost two hours later to clean the grime of the day off, and then I threw on a pair of blue jeans and a hunter green button-down shirt. By the time I was finished getting ready, I still had a few minutes before I needed to leave, so I sipped on a Tito's vodka on the rocks. Typically, I drank my vodka on the rocks with a twist of lime, but tonight I wanted something a little sweet.
I went to the fridge, picked up the organic pomegranate juice I saved for special occasions, and added just enough to the clear liquid in my glass to give it a light red color. I leaned against the kitchen island and took a slow sip of the tangy cocktail with a slight grimace. I exhaled deeply to let the stress of the day’s events flow out of me, and then lifted the tart drink to my mouth and finished the rest.
I dumped the ice in the sink, then placed the glass in the dishwasher before I grabbed my keys and headed out the front door. Once I was in the parking garage, I hopped in the beemer and headed toward Claire’s downtown loft on Main Street. There wasn’t any street parking available in front of her building, so I turned and parked in the Commerce Street garage. I locked my car with the key fob then traversed the warm, muggy path toward my date’s apartment.
I rounded the corner and saw a woman with long, wavy blonde hair in painted-on black skinny jeans and an open-back flowy lavender tank top. Claire stood with her back to me and leaned against the weathered stone wall of the Davis Building as she swiped through her phone, oblivious to my presence. That blonde knockout always did look amazing in those spandex jeans.
“Well, hello beautiful,” I said lowly into her ear, and Claire jumped.
“Jesus, John. Don’t scare me like that,” she fussed and gave me a playful slap on the arm. Then she wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me tight against her body. “It’s good to see you, anyway.”
“It’s always good to see you, sweet thing,” I folded my arms around her waist, intertwined my fingers at the base of her back, and then gave her a light kiss on her full, soft lips.
She opened her round, slate-blue eyes and smiled broadly at me. “Shall we go? The restaurant is only about two blocks this way,” she pointed to her left, grabbed my hand with her right hand, and we began to trek toward the pizza parlour.
I hadn’t had so much innocent fun in a very long time. We split a large, deep-dish pizza: half meat-lover’s and half three cheese blend. Claire made me laugh all night as she challenged herself to see how far she could pull her piece of cheese-loaded pizza away from her mouth and still keep one tiny string of cheese connected to her pursed lips. My friend always kept me entertained, even when we weren’t between the sheets. I walked her back to her loft building, her arm looped through mine, and we both decided it was best if we turned in early.
“Yeah, I’m going back to work tomorrow morning, but I lucked out. Since George is out of the country, I won’t have to deal with that messy situation for at least another week or so,” she explained with a frown.
“Hey, don’t think about it,” I gently touched her chin and lifted her lips to give her a quick kiss. “There’s nothing you can do at this point, so just go in, do your job, and call me if you need to vent, okay?”
“Okay,” she smiled up at me. “Thank you again for dinner, John. I had a wonderful evening.”
“I did too, Claire,” I returned her smile. “See you soon.”
I watched her turn and walk across the emerald green tile floor of the lobby. Her long, athletic legs and round, sculpted ass squeezed into those spandex skinny jeans mesmerized me. Before she entered the elevator, she turned suddenly and darted back across the lobby and out the front doors toward me.
“I can’t believe I almost forgot to give you this,” she exclaimed as she fished something from her purse, then handed me a piece of white paper that had been folded into a small square.
“What’s this?” I asked and began to unfold the secret note.
“Not here,” she said and grabbed the note with wide eyes, then paused and laughed at herself. “Look at me, acting like we’re in some Bond movie. It’s just the print out of the texts I found on George’s phone. It was surprisingly easy to get my h
ands on them, actually.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, then folded the paper back up and slid it into my front pants pocket. “How did you manage that? I figured this would take some more doing to accomplish?”
“Well, apparently George isn’t the brightest crayon in the box,” she replied with a wink. “He has all of his passwords written down on this sticky note he thinks is hidden in his desk. I’m his assistant, so no one even questioned when I went in to get some files from his computer.”
“That was awfully brave, Claire,” I said and gave her a worried glance. “Please don’t do anything like this again. While I appreciate it, seriously, I do, I can’t let you risk getting caught doing something like this, okay?”
“I know,” she said with an understanding nod. “I just had to prove to you I wasn’t crazy.”
“Oh, come on babe,” I gave her a soft kiss goodbye, then pulled back, looked down into her sparkling blue eyes, and gave her a playful smile. “There’s no amount of evidence that could convince me of that.”
Chapter 5
I spent the weekend carefully analyzing each line of the copied text records, highlighting suspicious language and making notes that compiled the unofficial testimonies of Susanna, Claire, and Roland. As I trudged down Main Street toward the office of Swinger and Ames that Monday morning, I felt as heavy as one of the ominous dark clouds that hung in the dreary Texas sky and threatened rain. When I reached the entrance to the large stone structure, I paused and touched the folded piece of paper in my coat pocket.
How was I going to start this conversation with Swinger? Now that I had the hard evidence and was personally convinced that Susanna was innocent, there was no way I could let her go down for a crime she didn’t commit. I headed straight to my office, waved at Margie as I passed the reception area, sat down at my desk, and dialed the extension for Swinger’s assistant, Gail.
Gail Barlow had worked for Swinger and Ames since the late 80s and knew all the ins and outs of the firm. She was a practical woman in her fifties now, and typically dressed in solid, brightly colored skirt suits that were leftover relics from the colorful fashion of the 1980s. Even her hair style revealed her favorite decade, as she kept it cut to her shoulders and dyed bleach blonde with full, teased mall bangs. Regardless of her fashion choices, Ms. Barlow was still a treasure.
“Richard Swinger’s office, how may I help you?” Gail’s singsong voice answered cheerfully.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” I cooed.
“Oh, Mr. Stone,” she replied with a giggle. “What do you want today?”
“Aw, is that all I’m good for? Requesting the impossible of you?” I teased back.
“Nothing is impossible for me, you know that, Johnny,” she replied with pretend firmness.
“I completely agree, Gail,” I said confidently. “Honestly, today’s request is pretty easy. I just need to know when Rich has some free time on his calendar today. I need to speak with him as soon as possible.”
“Hmmm,” Gail hummed, and I heard a few clicks of her mouse and keyboard. “He’s in court this morning for a PT hearing, so I don’t expect him back to the office until around 11. After that, he has a new client intake appointment at 2:30, so he might be able to squeeze you in before that. Would you like me to pencil you in for one o’clock this afternoon?”
“That would be perfect, yes,” I answered. “Thank you so much. Don’t work too hard for the rest of the day, you got it?”
She laughed loudly, then whispered, “Never do,” before she hung up the phone with a quiet click.
I leaned back in my chair and thought more about how I should approach Swinger with this new information. Hopefully his pre-trial hearing went well, and he’d be in a decent mood when he returned. I noticed the voicemail light on my office phone was illuminated, so I picked up the receiver and Elizabeth’s scratchy voice came through.
“Hey boss,” the raspy voice said. “I’m feeling a little better, but am going to take a half day today and will be in around one.”
I was glad she was finally getting over that crud. I could really use her help to go through this mountain of newly assigned cases. I picked up a small stack of Ames’ old files from the round meeting table and began to peruse the details of the predominantly uninteresting and predictable misdemeanor cases.
Before I knew it, my phone read 12:30 p.m., and my meeting with Swinger was in thirty short minutes. I jogged down the hall to the vending machine in the kitchen area, inserted a dollar, and selected a bag of Doritos. I reached in and grabbed the small foil bag after it dropped, then ripped it open as I returned to my desk.
I shoveled the cheesy triangles into my mouth and grabbed a few tissues from the dispenser on my desk to wipe my fingers. I had to get something in my stomach before I talked to Swinger, but a partner would never have orange fingerprints on his clients’ files. I glanced down at my cell phone.
12:36 p.m.
I walked back down the hall, grabbed a water bottle from the stocked fridge, and chugged it as I headed back down the hallway to my office. I nearly ran into Elizabeth as I walked through the door.
“Oh, there you are, boss,” she croaked. “You startled me. Anything new on the agenda for today?”
“Yes, actually,” I replied after I swallowed a large gulp of ice cold water. “I’m meeting with Swinger at one. Speaking of agendas, did you add all the new court dates to my calendar?”
“Yep, sure did,” my bespectacled assistant confirmed as she ran her fingers through her honey-blonde hair.
“And you contacted the courts to list me as lead counsel?”
“All of the Substitution of Counsel motions have been filed, even though it’s still technically the same firm representing them. I wanted to make sure you officially get credit when you win these bad boys,” the paralegal bragged shamelessly.
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll see, won’t we?” I raised one eyebrow and grinned at her before I walked around her to my desk and checked my phone.
12:47 p.m.
“Wait, why are you here already?” I asked when I realized it wasn’t quite one yet.
“Eh, I was feeling better and figured you’d need help with all of these new cases,” she answered and flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder and adjusted her glasses on her nose. “What are you meeting with Swinger about, anyway?”
“Oh, we’re just reviewing a few of Sully’s old case details. Nothing too big,” I replied casually. I didn’t want to loop her in on this one. Even though I trusted her fully, I didn’t have enough evidence to feel comfortable sharing the information with her yet.
“Oh, okay. I’ll come and take notes for you,” she nodded, then picked up a lined yellow legal pad and pen from the table.
“Nah, that’s okay, Liz,” I said and shook my head. “I appreciate the offer, but I need you here getting discovery motions ready to file for the Foster case.”
I picked up a manila file folder labeled Foster, Martin from my desk and handed it to her.
“Ames didn’t get around to requesting discovery yet, so please get on that pronto,” I requested.
“Alright, no problem,” she replied as she took the file from my hand. “I’ll get right on it.”
I gave her a tight-lipped smile and glanced down at my phone.
12:52 p.m.
I took another sip of water and wiped my mouth with a tissue. I couldn’t approach Swinger with gross orange crust in the corners of my mouth.
“I’m going to head down to Swinger’s office now,” I said to Elizabeth as I replaced the plastic cap on the water bottle and set it on my desk. “It shouldn’t take too long, then I’ll be back to sign off on those motions.”
“Sounds good, boss,” she replied, then sat down at the cluttered meeting table, adjusted her glasses, pulled her laptop from a tote bag on the floor next to her, and buried her head in the Foster file.
I took a deep breath and then trudged down the elaborately decorated hallway toward Rich
ard Swinger’s office. My Oxfords sunk into the richly carpeted floor that had a cream, cardinal red, deep mocha, and gold Persian-inspired pattern. My eyes were mesmerized by the repetitive motif as I stepped slowly down the hall. The walls were papered with a matching deep red striped design from the white baseboards to a smooth white chair rail halfway up the wall, then painted antique white to the crown moulding at the ceiling.
The dark mahogany French doors to Swinger’s office were closed, so I knocked lightly.
“Who is it?” A harsh voice shouted from beyond the ornately carved door.
“It’s John Stone. We have a one o’clock?” I responded, my voice lilted at the end of the question.
“Oh. Yeah. Stone. Come in,” Swinger replied gruffly.
I turned the smooth brass door knob and slowly swung the large door open. Swinger stood in front of his desk with a glass of clear liquid in his left hand. His other thick hand held his cell phone to his ear.
“I don’t care what the D.A. wants,” Swinger yelled into the phone. “That’s not what my client wants, so that’s not what I want. Fix it.”
He pressed the end call button with his thumb, took a swig from his glass, turned to face me, and crossed his brawny arms across his barrel chest. His sleeves were pushed up to his elbow and exposed muscular forearms.
“Well, what do you want, Stone?” The haughty man asked menacingly as he stared me up and down.
“Let’s sit down,” I suggested, and moved to sit in one of the velvet-cushioned wooden chairs that faced his impressively large desk.
“What’s all this about?” Swinger huffed and dropped heavily into his seat.
“You know the CUSA bombings?” I cut right to the chase.
“Yeah? What about them? The feds found out some redheaded chick and her skeezy anarchist boyfriend allegedly did it.” He leaned into the word allegedly as if he didn’t believe it. “I mean, we’re still getting paid to represent them and all, thank god, but unfortunately we won’t see any of those trial proceeds.”