by Dave Derin
We stood in silence for a few seconds and endured Skip’s hacking cough and labored breathing before the brass doors slid open. Then I hauled Skip’s limp body into the elevator, nodded a thank you to the guard, and pressed the ground floor button. I leaned Skip against the wall, and his head dropped back against the black metal as a bit of drool pooled in the corner of his lip. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, glanced at the valet ticket for the number, and texted the valet to let them know we were on our way.
The elevator reached the ground floor, and I was thankful that the exit to the valet kiosk was only a few yards across the carpeted lobby. I looked over at Skip, and was surprised that he’d stood up straight, wiped the drool from his mouth, and tucked in his button-down black shirt to reveal a gaudy belt buckle with “Texas” in big, gold letters.
“Good morning, sunshine,” I grinned at him, and he shot me a sideways glance and raised one eyebrow.
“It ain’t mornin’ yet, kid,” he replied dryly.
“Whatever you say, Mr. Gallant,” I chuckled at what I hoped was alcohol-induced grumpiness and not his normal demeanor. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
We made our way across the noisy, bustling lobby and walked out of the double doors that led to the valet kiosk. My black BMW sat parked in front of the small, umbrella covered station, so I handed the same red-headed young man my yellow ticket along with another five-dollar bill.
“Have a great night,” I smiled at the freckle-faced valet as I slid into the driver’s seat and unlocked the door for Skip to climb in. “So, where’s home?”
“5438 Prairie Lane, over on the pond next to Joe Pool Lake and Estes Park,” he mumbled, then laid the seat back and covered his face with his cowboy hat.
I entered the address into my car’s GPS, then continued down the exit road that led away from Lone Star Park. His address was only eleven miles away, so the drive south to his house only took about fifteen minutes on that Saturday afternoon. The inebriated sleeping man began to snore loudly, so I turned on some rock music and cranked up the volume to Highway to Hell. He didn’t even flinch, just continued to snore and snooze away as I cruised toward Joe Pool Lake.
“Alright, we’re here,” I announced as I pulled into the driveway and noticed Skip’s surprisingly well-manicured front yard. I’m sure he paid someone else to take care of that for him.
The formerly successful attorney owned a two-story, colonial style red brick home with wide windows all along the front of the house. The sides of the property were bordered with tall pine trees, and the lush, green grass of his backyard stretched down to a blue-green pond where a small metal boat sat on the shore. I put the car in park and pulled the key out of the ignition as Skip rubbed his eyes, opened the car door, stepped out, then stretched his arms out wide and groaned.
“That was a good little nap I got there,” he turned and grinned at me, then walked around the car and headed toward the front door.
“Are you feeling any better?” I asked as I locked the car door and followed him toward the red brick pathway that led to the Charleston green front door that matched the window shutters.
“When was I feeling bad?” he asked with a tilt of his head, then hopped up the brick steps of the front stoop which was covered by an awning supported by two white columns, and unlocked the front door.
We entered into a small foyer with light oak flooring and a hunter green decorative runner rug that led toward the back of the house. Skip shuffled across the rug and motioned for me to follow him down the hall. We walked into a cozy den area that had a matching couch and chair set with the same hunter green color incorporated with dark burgundy and cream in a plaid pattern. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall opposite the couch, and an impressively large twelve-point buck’s head was mounted above a red brick fireplace against the back wall that had a repurposed wooden railroad tie as a mantle. Two Civil War era rifled muskets hung on either side of the fireplace with their barrels aimed at the taxidermied deer head.
“Have a seat,” Skip grumbled and motioned to the couch, then tossed his sweaty cowboy hat on the plaid chair, and stumbled toward the galley-style kitchen off the right side of the living room.
“You need some help?” I asked and followed him into the white washed kitchen. “I can make you something to eat.”
“Does this look like your house?” Skip turned and gave me an irritated glare. “I can manage just fine on my own, thank you very much.”
“Never said you couldn’t,” I said and raised my hands innocently. “I was just trying to help, but I can see you have it all under control.” I returned to the plaid-covered living room, slouched down on the couch, and pulled out my phone. I heard a loud crash in the kitchen, followed by several smaller shatters, then a howl of pain.
“Shit, dammit, mother effin’,” the still-inebriated man cursed under his breath.
I let out a deep sigh, then put my phone back in my pocket and strolled into the kitchen. Skip sat against a white cabinet with his legs sprawled out across the floor. The shattered remnants of a coffee mug and an entire tray of silver utensils lay scattered across the floor, and a drawer was missing from the cabinet. I scanned the room and realized the drawer had been flung across the room. The still drunk, white-haired man rubbed his elbow and winced.
“You alright?” I asked as I moved across the white tile floor to help him get to his feet.
“I think so,” he grimaced as he stood up shakily and held his elbow.
“Here, please sit down, Skip,” I pulled a black wooden chair from beneath a matching black table in his small dining nook at the back of the kitchen and pushed it under him so that he could sit down.
“Thanks, kid,” he said softly as he rubbed his face with both palms, then winced with pain when he unintentionally bent his bruised elbow.
I walked over and opened the freezer, pulled out a bag of frozen peas and handed them to Skip. He rested his injured elbow on it, and his face screwed into a pained frown. I bent down and picked up all the dropped silverware from the dirty tile floor and placed it in the sink, then carefully scooped up the broken pieces of the green ceramic mug. Fortunately, it had only broken in a few pieces and not tiny shards. I glanced over at Skip’s silver Keurig machine and decided to finish his task for him. I grabbed another clean mug from the white cabinet, picked out a Kona Blend K-cup from the bowl next to his coffee maker, and started to brew him a steaming cup of fresh coffee.
Skip looked up as the coffee maker began to sputter and grinned at me. “Thanks, kid. I sure do need that right about now,” he stood up and leaned against the counter next to the Keurig. The coffee maker finished its work, so Skip grabbed the hot mug by its handle, and we walked through the narrow galley kitchen toward the living room. I sat back down on the plaid couch, and my new acquaintance sat in the matching overstuffed chair, crossed his legs and took a slow sip of his coffee.
“Just let me know when you’re ready to talk,” I stated, then pulled out my phone again.
“So, tell me about this girl, Susanna,” Skip said after he took another sip of coffee.
“What do you mean?” I asked as I put my phone down and leaned back on the couch.
“I mean, what makes you so certain she’s innocent that you’d come and find me, of all people, to help you defend her?” he asked directly and met my eyes with his pale blue ones.
“Well, like I said, Sully very strongly suggested that I contact you,” I said after I’d considered it for a moment. “And I also did some independent research and was impressed with your legal prowess.”
“Oh, come on, you aren’t here just to kiss my narrow butt now, are you?” he said as if he were joking, but kept a serious, straight face.
“No, of course not,” I frowned and faced away from him. This guy really wasn’t going to make this easy on me. “Listen, Skip, if you aren’t interested in working with me, please just tell me so I can quit wasting both of our time.”
“Aw, kid, I’m jus
t givin’ you a hard time,” the grizzled man smiled widely then crossed his legs the other way. “Tell ya’ what. You tell me what the evidence you have proving Miss Susanna’s innocence, and I’ll give you an answer right here on the spot. And I’ll do it all pro-bono too, if it’s juicy enough.”
“Oh, wow,” my eyes widened, and I tried to keep my jaw from dropping open. “Okay, well. Here’s the short version of what I know so far. A trusted friend of mine, who also happens to be an attorney, was on the Central US Air flight that exploded last week. He will testify that my client was sitting directly in front of the bomb’s location. Why would anyone in their right mind sit right beside a bomb they knew would explode during landing?”
“Okay,” Skip nodded slowly and took a sip from his steaming mug.
“I also have a trustworthy source within Central US Air’s main rival airline, Tranquility Air,” I continued, and Skip sat up a little straighter in his chair. “She came to me with suspicious text messages she accidentally discovered on her bosses’ phone that point to him being behind all three bombs. We’re going to have to get a warrant and search through tons of records to find it--”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Skip said and held up the hand not holding his coffee to stop me. “You’re tellin’ me you don’t have the text messages yet?”
“Well, no,” I continued and became a bit heated. “I just signed on three days ago, her arraignment was came with less than a day’s notice, and a lot of shit has been going on since then, okay?”
“Okay, kid,” the white-haired man said with a grin. “Let’s not get our panties in a twist, alright?”
“Don’t flatter yourself and think that you’d ever get to see my panties,” I narrowed my eyes at him for a moment, then cracked a half smile.
“Ah, there he is,” Skip said with a chuckle. “Alright, I’ve gotta say, I’m definitely interested.”
“You are?” I asked critically. “And you really think you can help me win this?”
“Kid, I know I can,” Skip stood up from his green and burgundy plaid chair, grabbed his black cowboy hat from the back of it, popped it back on his head, and raised his coffee in the air as if to make a toast.
“What are you toasting?” I asked with a chuckle.
“To victory,” he exclaimed mockingly, then chuckled and shuffled toward the couch.
“Ah, I see,” I replied slowly, then gave him wide eyes and a slow, sarcastic nod before I laughed at his ridiculous antics.
He flopped down next to me, put a thin arm around my shoulders, then suddenly became serious and said, “John, I gotta level with ya’. Your father meant the world to me.”
“Yeah, he really was a stand-up guy,” I nodded in agreement and tried to hold my breath against the stench that emanated from his sweat-stained armpit.
“Even when I was at my very worst,” Skip spoke over me as if he didn’t hear me. “Paul was always there to pick my dumb, drunk ass up off the ground and dust me off. I remember I came and visited him in the hospital at the very end.” The emotional, scruffy-faced man removed his shaky arm from around my slumped shoulder and then rubbed the inner corner of his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.
“Yes, I remember you coming, actually,” I turned and looked at him as I recalled the memories in snapshots, like fuzzy Polaroid pictures. “I’d just gotten out of school for the day, and my aunt Doreen took me through the McDonald’s drive-thru, something my parents would have never allowed. She let me order a Big Mac meal and a large chocolate milkshake. I knew it was really bad then.”
“Damn, kid,” Skip shot me a surprised glance. “That’s some memory you’ve got there.”
“Comes in handy in court,” I smiled at him and raised my eyebrows. “But honestly, I just remember those last few weeks so well. I couldn’t tell you what we studied in class or who I had a crush on when I was in middle school, but I can tell you what my dad ate for dinner every night those last few weeks he was hospitalized.” I rarely spoke about my father’s death, but for some reason I felt comfortable as I confided in the sloppy mess of an attorney.
“He just looked so skeletal and gaunt, nothing like the real Paul,” the grizzled attorney continued mournfully. “I saw him lying there in that bed through the doorway first, and Alice was there by his bedside, like she always was. He was hooked up to all kinds of machines. I almost didn’t go in, but forced myself to because I didn’t know if there would be a next time for me to talk to him.”
“You’re gonna make me tear up like a baby over here,” I muttered under my breath. Dad was always so good to everyone, and had to make sure we were all taken care of, so it was hard to remember him helpless in that sterile hospital bed.
“I made him a promise that day,” Skip said as he stared straight ahead at the wall. “That if there was anything in this world I could ever do to help out his family, then doggone it, I’d do it, no questions asked.”
“I really appreciate that, Skip, and I know Dad would, too,” I responded to his emotional commentary and gave him a pat on his thin knee. “So, you’re sure that you’re ready to jump in?”
“I’ve been ready, kid,” he replied with a crooked smile.
“Alright,” I nodded, then stood up from the plaid couch. “My client and I have a lunch meeting at one o’clock on Monday, so if you can come in a couple of hours earlier, we can talk strategy. If you’ll give me your email address, I’ll have my paralegal send you the address and directions.”
“Sure,” he replied with a nod of his stringy, silvery hair, then pulled a tattered business card from his wallet and handed it to me. “I’ll be there bright and early.”
“Alright,” I said with a glance down at the white card with bold blue letters, then grinned at his earnest expression. “Well, I guess I’m going to head on home, but I’ll see you on Monday morning, okay?
“Sounds good, kid,” Skip responded, then laid down length-wise on the burgundy and hunter green plaid couch with his scuffed black boots still on, placed his hat over his face, and was snoring loudly before I even reached the front door.
I made my way home and enjoyed a lazy, relaxing Saturday evening. An Indiana Jones marathon was on TV, so I let the nostalgic cheesy action movies play in the background while I leisurely did some laundry, washed dishes, changed my bedsheets, and tidied up my apartment. Sunday was very much the same, as I thankfully had nothing on my calendar, so I began the day at the gym for a two-hour intense workout session, then made my way back upstairs to make myself a light brunch of scrambled eggs and toast with plum jam. I piddled around the apartment for the rest of the day and went to bed early to get a good night’s rest for Monday morning’s meeting.
I arrived at my office at 7:58 a.m. the next morning dressed in a light gray suit with a black button-down shirt and my favorite black Oxfords. I hopped out of my car, locked it behind me, and started toward the back door.
“Mornin’,” a friendly voice called from across the parking lot.
I looked to my right and saw that my cheerful paralegal bounced across the parking lot with her pink tote bag over her shoulder. She wore a light blue cardigan with sequin flowers on the chest over a pastel yellow flowy cotton dress and white strappy sandals.
“Well, good morning to you,” I replied, then held the back door open for her to pass through. “How was your weekend?”
“Pretty lame, honestly,” she said as she made her way to her desk, gently set her bag down, then picked up her precious Athena and placed her gingerly on her carpeted perch. “I just sat around at home and didn’t do much of anything.”
“Hey, that sounds like a pretty great weekend to me,” I laughed as I made my way to my desk and sat down in the black and green office ergonomic chair.
“How about you? Did you do anything fun?” Destinee asked as she booted up her computer.
“Well, I guess technically I went to the race track, but it wasn’t for fun,” I replied and rolled my eyes. “So, get yourself ready, because today i
s going to be a doozy.”
“Uh, what do you mean?” Her dark brown eyes widened as she looked at me across the room.
“Well, I managed to locate Skip Gallant, and well...” I struggled to find the words to describe him without being ugly. “Let’s just see how it goes once he gets here. He said he’d be here bright and early, so we’ll see.”
“We’ll see what?” A familiar raspy voice spoke from the front lobby of the office.
“Holy sh--” I jumped out of my skin at the startling appearance of Skip in my office so early in the morning. “Damn, Skip. You scared the crap out of me, don’t do that again.” I let out a relieved laugh and stood up to greet him.
Skip looked like he’d been put through the process of an all-inclusive makeover show and barely resembled the drunkard I’d seen two days before. He wore pressed black slacks with a tucked in white button-down shirt and a black suit coat over it. His traditional black cowboy boots and black hat were still incorporated into his outfit, but they seemed to be either new or freshly cleaned and polished. He’d also gotten a haircut and shaved his face to clean up his look. He’d left a thick, white mustache above his thin lips that suited his rogue cowboy attorney aesthetic.
“Surprised to see me?” Skip grinned and flashed clear, bright blue eyes at me as he stepped up the three stairs to the main lobby. The heels of his boots clicked loudly across the wood floor as he made his way over to me and held out his hand.
“I never doubted you for a second,” I returned his smile and shook his hand firmly. Maybe, just maybe, the infamous Skip Gallant wouldn’t be quite as big of a maintenance project as I’d originally thought.
Chapter 13
I strolled back to the storage room, pulled out one of the old orange-cushioned chairs that formerly sat in the office’s lobby, then carried it over to my desk. I slid my own black-and-green office chair around the side of the light oak desk and offered it to Skip, then placed the older chair in its original spot.