John Stone Law

by Dave Derin

  “What do you mean?” I questioned and shifted uncomfortably in my chair.

  “Well, last I heard, Markson said the gal was going to settle,” Swinger explained and leaned back in his chair. “They still haven’t found the boyfriend yet to my knowledge, but ol’ Markson was calling it a hole in one for the prosecution.”

  “What if I told you I could prove that the redhead, Susanna Jenkins, was innocent?” I stated and met his eyes.

  “Uh, I’d say good luck with that. The feds think they have enough evidence to bury her,” the ruddy-faced man replied with a laugh. “What have you been doing snooping around this case, anyway? I thought Dodson already let you have it. We don’t have a dog in this fight.”

  “Do you remember Roland Dodge?” I asked and leaned forward. “He’s a civil litigator, and a good friend of mine from college. He was on that flight, and will testify that Susanna was sitting directly inside of the blast radius. Now tell me, why would someone who allegedly placed the bomb in the turbine, knew exactly where it was and when it would detonate, sit so close to it? It makes no sense.”

  “I remember Roland,” Swinger replied with a sideways glance. “And I remember that he’s full of shit. His eyes should be brown he’s so full of shit.”

  “Rich, it’s a good lead,” I responded sternly. “You know it doesn’t make sense for Susanna to be involved. Now we have another avenue to investigate.”

  “Stone, I swear to God, if you waste any of my billable time on this nonsense--” Swinger snarled.

  “Please don’t bring up money with me, Dick,” I interrupted. “I’ve made enough for this firm to pay my salary for for the next ten years many times over.”

  “If this whole conversation rests on the drunken ramblings of your degenerate friend, you’re wasting both my time and my money,” he countered with genuine malice in his voice.

  “That not all,” I added. “I have an inside source that has seen written communication that leads her to believe she knows who is behind the attacks.” I didn’t want to reveal too much information at once or bring Claire’s name into it until I absolutely had to.

  “An inside source?” Swinger snorted. “That’s great, kid. What I’m hearing is that your old college drinking buddy and some mysterious source are feeding you big spoonfuls of smelly cow shit, and you’re eating it right up.”

  “Here, take a look at this,” I said, then reached into my coat pocket, unfolded the paper that I’d scrutinized the night before, and slid it across the desk toward Swinger.

  “What the hell is this?” He asked as he snatched up the piece of paper, grabbed his rimless reading glasses from his desk, and put them on. He held the crumpled document close to his face, then adjusted it farther away to read it.

  “It’s that cow shit you just mentioned,” I smirked at him from across his massive desk.

  “This means nothing,” he said after he’d reviewed it for a moment, then tossed it back across the desk at me. “How do I know someone didn’t just type that up to look like incriminating messages? You’re wasting my time and yours on this shit, and it needs to stop now.”

  “You can’t be serious, Richard,” I exclaimed. “I’m sitting here telling you that Susanna is innocent, showing you the hard evidence, and you don’t even want me to look into it?”

  “Listen,” Swinger lowered his voice to a low growl. “I can guarantee you this Susanna bitch can’t pay us nearly as much as Central US Air does, so yes. I’m telling you I don’t want you to look into it or mention this case again unless the FBI, the D.A., or God himself specifically, in a notarized memorandum, asks you to.”

  I slumped back down into the armchair as my mouth dropped open in disbelief.

  “Close your damn mouth, Stone. You honestly think I don’t have to pick and choose the cases we take? It’s a hard job, but someone has to keep this firm afloat financially. Your father got that so I’m not sure why you’re so fuckin’ dense.”

  I was barely cognizant that Swinger kept ranting. All I could think about was that gorgeous redhead who sat alone in a cold jail cell, innocent of all charges and, I’m sure, scared out of her mind. She hadn’t even had a speeding ticket in the last decade, much less shown any signs of violent activity or terroristic involvement.

  My mind raced as my eyes wandered over Swinger’s built-in mahogany bookshelves behind him. I frowned at the framed awards, pretentious trophies, and photos with celebrities he had proudly displayed on the dust-free shelves. Was Richard Swinger really who I wanted to emulate? Someone who only cared about making more money, building fake relationships, and keeping up appearances? I knew it wasn’t how I’d been raised and thought about how my father would have reacted to this news had he still been with us.

  My dad’s number one rule was to always tell the truth, regardless of the consequences, which was truly a rare trait to find in an attorney. Maybe his brutal honesty wasn’t what had made him so successful, but I had a good feeling it had kept Swinger more tightly reigned in. My stomach clenched as I thought about being able to discuss this life-changing decision with my father face-to-face, but I knew in my heart he would have told me to follow my conscience.

  I looked down at my lap as tears pricked in the inner corners of my eyes, and I discreetly rubbed my entire face with my palms and wiped them away. I wasn’t upset that Swinger screamed at me because I’d grown accustomed to his rampages, but I did desperately miss my father at that moment and would have given anything to talk to him one last time.

  Swinger continued his rant while I stared through him and folded my hands in my lap in an attempt to appear calm. My heart thudded harder and harder against my ribcage until I thought it would burst out of my chest like some Alien-inspired horror scene and was so loud I was certain Swinger could hear it. Once again, my eyes scanned the bookcase lined with framed pictures of Swinger as he smiled and shook hands with politicians and famous actors.

  I thought about what Roland said, about building my own legacy instead of working for Swinger. I thought that this firm was my father’s legacy and I needed to work here to preserve it, but one glance around Swinger’s office made me realize that my father’s legacy was gone the second his name came off the firm’s masthead. I realized in that moment that the firm meant nothing to me. I was my father’s legacy, and I was letting him down by sitting here and listening to this idiot.

  I closed my eyes for a few seconds, and my throat tightened as I made one of the most important decisions of my life.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” I snapped as I came back to reality. Swinger’s face was flushed lobster red as he yelled obscenities at me from across his desk. A stream of spittle flew from his flapping lips and landed on my shirt. I looked down at the wet stain in disgust, then back up at Swinger, whose face had dropped in disbelief.

  “What did you just say?” He asked in a scarily soft voice, then leaned back against his chair.

  “I said I can’t do this anymore. I quit. I can’t work for someone who operates like you,” I stood up as a tingling rush surged through my body and I felt an overwhelming power like I’d never felt before.

  “Come on, John,” Swinger uttered, then placed his hands palm down on his desk and slowly sat down. “I’m sorry I went off on you, but you can’t just leave us like this. Especially not after Sully--”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here,” I shook my head and sat up straight in my chair. “My mind is made up, Richard.”

  “Think about what you’re saying, John,” Swinger responded quickly. “You’re on the fast-track to being a named partner here. Do you really want to start over somewhere else?”

  “I don’t consider it starting over, necessarily. I’m just branching out on my own,” I stated, then crossed my arms over my chest and felt my heart thump heavily against my forearm.

  “You’re throwing your life away, John,” Richard’s gravely voice was shaky as he stared down at his sausage-like fingers.

  “I disagree, Richard
,” I replied sternly. “Plus, I’m a little offended at the implication that you think I can’t make it without help from you and the firm.”

  “Oh, that’s not what I meant,” the red-faced attorney ran a hand across his face. “I just meant--”

  “Listen, Rich. It doesn’t matter,” I interrupted. “I can’t continue to work for someone who values money over the truth.”

  “Give me a break,” Swinger rolled his eyes. “Are you really going to ride out of here on a white horse and gallivant around Texas playing the Robin Hood of Dallas and save all the poor innocents?”

  I raised an eyebrow at him, then stood and walked toward the door before I turned, met his eyes, and remarked curtly, “Green tights don’t suit me.”

  I pushed open his office door and strode confidently down the hall with my head held high, then opened the door to my office, closed it behind me, and collapsed my back against the cool wooden door. I felt my heart rate rise, and it became difficult to breathe, so I loosened my tie and took a deep breath and released it slowly.

  What the hell had I done? I’d just thrown away a mid-six-figure annual salary and a partnership career path over some redhead’s presumed innocence?

  It honestly wasn’t about the money. I had plenty of that thanks to my generous father’s inheritance that I’d luckily never had to touch. It was the principle of the matter. Plus, I trusted Claire and Roland not to lead me astray. My heart thudded painfully in my chest as I took a deep breath and tried to calm my nerves. I’d fantasized about starting my own firm since I’d graduated college and began law school, but I’d always considered it a pipe dream. Now it was a reality.

  I heard Swinger down the hall as he fussed and slammed things around his office, then Gail’s sweet voice shushed him as his office door shut with a click. He continued to yell, but it was too muffled to make out.

  I took another deep breath, walked over to my desk, then turned to see Elizabeth frozen beside the meeting table as she stared at me with big blue eyes.

  “Uh, boss? What just happened?” my loyal paralegal asked with a trembling voice.

  “Well, I finally had enough, Liz,” I explained as I began to pack my coffee mug, a few pictures, trinkets, and legal reference books into my briefcase.

  “What?” She shouted at me with shocked blue eyes.

  “It’s for the best, Liz. I just can’t do this anymore,” I said calmly and hated for her to be so concerned. “Don’t worry, your job is secure. You work for the firm, not me.”

  A single tear trickled down her face as she stood up from the table and moved to stand in front of me.

  “No one can replace the great John Stone, though,” she said, her throat scratchy.

  “Oh, come on Liz, don’t cry,” I begged, and scooped her up into a hug. I set her down lightly and put a hand on each of her shoulders, “We’ll still see each other in court.”

  “I know, but it’s not the same,” she pouted, and twisted the ends of her long dark-blonde hair.

  My heart crumpled as I watched another tear slide down her cheek, then smiled and touched her chin gently with my fist, “Hang in there, kiddo. You have my number if you need it, okay?”

  She gave me a weak smile, then nodded and turned to leave my office. I heard her start to bawl as she continued down the hallway toward the restrooms.

  I closed the door behind her, then leaned my forehead against it and sighed deeply. I wasn’t worried so much about losing the generous salary and benefits of working for a large firm. The real downside to resigning from Swinger and Ames was that I also had to abandon my amazing staff that I’d become close with over the years.

  For once, I was grateful that my office lacked many personal touches because it meant I had less to figure out how to take home. I finished packing my few belongings in a cardboard banker box I’d found in the storage closet and spent a few minutes reminiscing as I flipped through a stack of old pictures I’d found in my desk. In one photograph taken after my first trial victory, Ames, Swinger, and I stood in front of the courthouse downtown with huge smiles fixed on our faces. I closed my eyes and allowed a tear to fall as it hit me that I’d never practice law with Sully Ames again.

  I wiped the tear away with the back of my hand, slid the stack of photos in the box, then looked up and surveyed my bare office. This had been my first real job after I’d graduated law school and had opened so many doors for me that my chest was heavy with guilt as I left it. I turned off the light for the last time and shut the door on both my former office and past life.

  I trudged toward the front door, box and briefcase in hand, and was stopped by Maryanne. She bolted from behind the reception desk to stand in front of me in the lobby and blocked my path to the exit.

  Dang, she could move fast for a mature lady.

  “John Paul Stone,” she fussed and put her hands on her hips. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Heading home, Ms. Maryanne,” I replied with a knowing grin. “What are you doing?”

  I walked around her, and she moved to block my path again.

  “You’re making a mistake, John,” she warned.

  “Maryanne, you don’t understand what you’re talking about, and I don’t expect you to,” I explained with a sigh.

  “I know exactly what I’m talking about,” the silver-haired receptionist retorted. “Swinger did something morally stupid, you don’t agree, so you’re off on a moral high-road adventure to prove yourself. That about cover it?”

  I gaped at her silently for a moment. “Uh, yeah. That about covers it,” I said hesitantly.

  “Like I said, you’re making a big mistake. Just go back and talk to Richard. He’ll let you come back.”

  “There’s no way in hell, Maryanne.”

  She gasped at my foul language but moved to let me pass, and I gave her one last smile as I launched past the petite receptionist and exited the front doors for the last time as an employee of Swinger and Ames. My feet barely touched the ground as I strode toward the towering stone parking garage, trekked up the stairs to the second story, found my car and slouched down low into the driver’s seat.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket as I tried to figure out my next move. The screen read 1:33 p.m. My stomach churned angrily and reminded me that all I’d eaten for lunch was a small bag of junk food.

  I pulled out of the garage and headed toward my apartment to find something more substantial to eat. Most of the midday rush had died down already, so it was an easy drive to the interstate through downtown. I rolled down my window, hung my left arm out of it, and let the warm breeze flow over my arm and ripple through my hair.

  I’d never experienced such internal conflict before. It felt like a giant weight had been lifted from my shoulders, then replaced with an elephant on my chest. I now had to figure out how to start my own firm.

  I really needed to call Sully now that I had some big news to tell him. I knew he would give me trustworthy guidance, so I made a mental note to call him as I drove leisurely down the highway and noticed a bold, red-and-white billboard that promoted a Chick-Fil-A restaurant two exits up. The tempting thought of that perfect fried chicken sandwich with extra pickles and salty waffle fries made my mouth water, so I ditched the idea of a healthy meal at home, took the exit toward the fast-food chain, and ordered my usual combo. They had me through the line and presented me with a perfect order in under five minutes.

  Dang, these guys were good. If only our court system ran as efficiently as a Chick-Fil-A, we’d really be able to get some work done.

  I pulled out of the parking lot and took the back roads toward my apartment. I pulled a hot, crispy waffle fry from the bag and gingerly took a small bite. The salty potato wedge burned my mouth, but it was so tasty I didn’t care. I grabbed another waffle fry and shoved it in my mouth as I chewed ravenously, then took a large sip of my lemonade to wash down the savory goodness.

  I drove in silence as I enjoyed the uncommon treat for about ten minutes b
efore I reached my apartment’s garage. I realized I’d completely zoned out and gone on autopilot the entire way home. I clicked the device on my car’s visor to open the garage security door, and it slowly creaked open.

  I pulled unhurriedly through the dim garage as I searched for an available parking spot. I grinned as I spotted one right beside the elevator. It was my lucky day. I parked, grabbed my bag of food and to-go cup, and glanced down at the box and briefcase on the floorboard. I’d deal with those later. I locked the car and made my way to the elevator as I took another long sip of the tart lemonade. The elevator doors slid open just as I reached for the call button.

  Out pranced Katerina Volkov in a magnificent silver fringed flapper dress. Her thin, muscular legs were exposed halfway up her smooth thighs and covered with sheer, black pantyhose. Skyscraper silver stilettos and a black sequin headpiece completed her 1920s inspired outfit.

  “Well, look at you, Miss Volkov,” I complimented. “Where are you headed this afternoon looking so fine?”

  “My company is hosting a costume party. I have to help set up so I’m arriving early,” the dark-haired woman blushed and spun around in a small circle. “Do you like it?” She asked with a sly smile.

  “Oh yeah, you look amazing,” I said sincerely.

  She really did look incredible. Her chin-length straight black hair and fringe of bangs fit perfectly in the 1920s era.

  Katerina glanced down at my bag of fast food, “I must get going. I won’t keep you from your lunch.” She smiled, then turned slowly so that I could see every inch of her saunter toward her cherry red convertible.

  I backed into the elevator as I watched her rounded hips sway away, then pressed the button for the fourteenth floor. I leaned my right shoulder against the side of the elevator wall and sighed.

  Why did she have to be so damn sexy?

  The elevator dinged as it reached my floor, and the doors crept open. I impatiently pushed through them, unlocked my front door, and strode quickly down the hallway toward my living room. I plopped down on the couch and grabbed the television remote as I set the Chick-Fil-A bag and cup on the coffee table. Then I flipped to the local news channel and hoped they’d mention an update about Susanna.