Hard Bitten

by M. K. York

  He didn’t let himself stop. He just kept moving, down the hallway, trying to ignore how his palms had abruptly started sweating.

  *

  Gavin watched the door close. Once it clicked shut, he darted a sharp look at Mark.

  Mark dropped his head to examine the papers on his desk, ignoring Gavin’s stare.

  “Oh, man,” said Gavin. “That was weird.”

  “No it wasn’t.” Mark scribbled something unintelligible in the margin of a sheet.

  “Yeah, it was. You’re into that? Like, the whole... Russian-athlete-from-a-1980s-movie look?”

  “No. You’re imagining things, nothing is weird, you’re making it weird by talking about this, and we are not close enough for you to grill me on this shit. Go back to your actual work.”

  Gavin leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “Suit yourself, man. Suit yourself.”

  “Thank you.” Mark pretended to scribble another note. After a minute, he dropped the pen and put his forehead into his hand, leaning his elbow on the desk.

  “Oh my God!” Gavin slapped the arm of his desk chair. “You are into that!”

  “Shut up,” Mark said, despairingly.

  “I was almost ready to believe you! Damn, you’re good. You should be a trial lawyer or something.” Gavin frowned, suddenly pensive. “Man, you know you’re going to have to put him on the stand at the trial, right?”

  “Yes, Gavin, that had occurred to me.”

  “Never fuck somebody you’re going to put on the stand, dude. Never fuck a witness.”

  “Please stop talking. I will pay you money to stop talking.”

  “I really get why you didn’t want to talk about it, now.”

  “So why are you still talking?”

  Mark hurled a wadded-up paper at Gavin, which failed to connect. Gavin picked it up from his desk and smoothed it out. “Hey, I think you need this for court. It’s signed and everything.”

  “Fuck you,” said Mark with feeling.

  *

  It was an otherwise uneventful Thursday. Mark had high hopes for being able to finish up his paperwork on a handful of cases and get home at a reasonable hour. Gavin had been humming tunelessly to himself at his desk—and Mark had registered his displeasure with this in a variety of ways, including but not limited to loudly and badly singing disco music back at him—before getting up to go grab them both coffee from Starbucks, and the sun had even deigned to appear, so their office was brighter than usual. There were still clouds lining most of the sky, but with the sunlight reflecting back up at them, they looked almost lilac rather than gray.

  “Hey,” said a familiar deep voice.

  His head jerked up like it had been yanked by a string. A beat too late, he replied. “Hey.”

  “Is Gavin around?”

  Lukas was leaning on the doorframe—too casually, really, for a workplace, Mark’s brain supplied, at least the part of it that wasn’t shorting out trying to process his folded arms, sleeves pushed up to the elbows.

  “Yeah, he just went to get coffee. He should be back in a minute.”

  “Mind if I wait for him?”

  “Not at all, make yourself comfortable.” Mark waved to the chair across from Gavin’s desk. They didn’t like consulting with their clients in their shared office, but it was an inevitable necessity of the generally cramped quarters.

  Lukas straightened up and dropped into the chair. It squeaked as he rocked back in it.

  “Got any big plans for the weekend?” asked Lukas.

  “No, uh, not really, I was just going to relax a little.”

  “You should come watch the game with me and the guys. We’re playing the Ravens.”

  Mark felt a pang. “Aw, man.”

  “You busy?” Lukas’s face was like a placid lake—too calm. Too composed. He knew Mark wasn’t busy but if Mark said he was, Lukas would accept it and move on, and maybe not invite Mark to things in the future.

  And watching a game with the guys—well. That wasn’t a date. That wasn’t dangerous, the way the two of them sitting on the couch in paint-spattered clothes could be. They weren’t exactly going to make out in front of Lukas’s friends. Mark would have bet money Lukas wasn’t out to them, anyway.

  And football. Football with guys who cared about it.

  “No, I’m not busy.” He smiled at Lukas. Lukas smiled back, slowly.

  “Great. The guys will be thrilled. They figure you class us up.”

  “Oh, do I?” Mark raised an eyebrow. Lukas was just opening his mouth to answer when Gavin came in.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, that line just keeps getting worse! Oh, hi, Lou, anything new?”

  “Yeah,” said Lukas after a deliberate blink that Mark was pretty sure meant Lukas was considering throttling anyone who called him Lou. “Do you have the timeline for when the cops think he was out being a budding graffiti artist?”

  “Let me find it, it’s in here somewhere.” Gavin handed a cup to Mark and sat down at his desk, shuffling through the files. “Okay, okay. Let’s see. The call went in at 11:28. Cops found him at 11:45.”

  “Well, he was sexting his friend at 11:24 and then again at 11:31 with pictures that show him partially nude, in his car, so either he’s really multitalented, or he’s not the guy.”

  Gavin looked up at him in astonishment. “You mean I have a client who’s actually, demonstrably innocent?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  “Holy shit!” Gavin erupted from his chair to lean across the table, seize Lukas’s hand, and shake it. “I cannot wait to give opposing counsel six different kinds of shit for not figuring that out!”

  “I would recommend trying to keep it low profile. These aren’t pictures he wants the world to know about.”

  “Well, obviously, or he would have fucking told me about them, but come on! This is great!”

  Mark had a thought. It had him tapping his fingers against his lips, staring into space, before Gavin broke in. “Earth to Mark. What’s up?”

  “I was thinking,” he said. “I don’t think I ever saw cell phone records from my client in the arson case. I wonder if she was sexting the victim. I wonder if the wife saw.”

  “Don’t you think the cops would have been all over that?” asked Gavin, dubiously.

  “I still want to check. I’ll ask Lena.”

  “Anyway,” said Lukas, “I just wanted to drop by and tell you about that.” He levered himself to his feet, Gavin craning his head back to watch. Lukas glanced over at Mark. “I’ll text you about Sunday.”

  “Should I bring anything?”

  “We always do wings and beer. If you wanted to bring chips and dip or something, that would be cool.”

  “Okay, great. Will do.”

  “Good to see you again,” Lukas added to Gavin.

  After he’d gone, Gavin turned to Mark.

  “No.” Mark held out a hand, palm out, and forestalled any further conversation by chugging an enormous gulp of scorching-hot coffee.

  *

  Later that afternoon, Lukas was on the phone with Nick, and he managed to say, in a fair imitation of nonchalance, “I ran into Mark, that lawyer, invited him to Sunday’s game, if that’s cool.”

  “Shit, man, yeah! Of course!” Nick laughed. “Think he’ll bring beer?”

  After they hung up, Lukas texted Mark: Nick’s house, Sunday, bring beer and guacamole and then Nick’s address, up in the cheaper northern part of Ballard where it was starting to turn into Crown Hill.

  Mark texted back almost immediately. Looking forward to it, thanks for inviting me.

  no problem said Lukas.

  Mark didn’t text back. Lukas set his phone down; picked it up again a minute later, checked. No new messages.

  He set it down again more firmly.

  *

  Mark got there before Frank. Lukas was trying, very hard, not to watch the door, but he still felt a wave of adrenaline when the doorbell rang. Nobody rang Nick’s doorbell.


  “Hey, man, come on in!” Nick gave Mark a quick hug and a firm backslap. “Oh, nice, you brought snacks.”

  Mark held up a grocery bag in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. “Damn right. Where do I put them?”

  “Let me.” Consuela grabbed the groceries. “Beer in the cooler.”

  “Nice, okay.” Mark moved past Lukas, brushing up against him on his way to the cooler. He was wearing jeans—baggier than the ones he’d worn for painting—and a pair of sneakers. “Good to see you, man.”

  “You too. How’s work?”

  “Busy as always. Nobody here’s going to drive home drunk, right?” Mark straightened up, pointing around the room. “Right? I don’t want to see any of you assholes tomorrow morning.”

  “Right, right. Hey, I’m Alex, I don’t think we met.”

  “I think you’re right. I’m Mark.”

  “You ready for the game?”

  “Hell, yeah.” Mark pulled back his coat to reveal his jersey. “Sherman all the way!”

  Nick was grinning. “Did you put him up to this?”

  “No, that’s all him.” Lukas raised his eyebrows ruefully.

  “What?” Mark glanced over and saw Richard Sherman’s name blazoned on Lukas’s jersey. He burst out laughing. “Oh shit! Twinsies!”

  “It’s okay, at least Consuela loves Russell.”

  “He’s my guy!” she shouted from the kitchen.

  Nick said under his breath to Mark, “She did her nails for the game.”

  Consuela emerged, catching the comment, and showed off her hands to Mark. He took them gently and turned them, admiring the nails—alternating bright green and navy blue. “Lovely. Well done.”

  “At least someone around here appreciates my hard work.” She gave him a brilliant smile. “I’m going to put out that dip you brought, you want to give me a hand?”

  “Sure thing.” Mark smiled at her.

  “Don’t get too fresh with my lady!” Nick called after them as they headed into the kitchen. “You may be a fancy lawyer but I can kick your ass!”

  “Sure you can!” Mark’s voice carried clearly out of the kitchen. “Keep telling yourself that!”

  Everybody laughed. Lukas felt, simultaneously, anxiety constricting his chest and a warm kind of pride: Mark was fitting in just fine, Mark was getting along with everyone. Of course he was.

  By the time they all settled down to watch the game, beers in hand, Consuela propping her feet up on the ottoman, Lukas had found a spot at the end of the couch. He was, maybe, probably, hoping that Mark would sit next to him. Mark didn’t. Mark picked the love seat next to Alex, and Nick sat down in the middle, next to Consuela. Frank showed up late, but everyone knew Frank got the armchair because if he didn’t, he’d elbow whoever was sitting next to him when he jumped up screaming. (Mark seemed to know this instinctually.)

  In the fourth quarter, Mark stood up. “Cooler’s out, mind if I grab one from the fridge?”

  “Go for it,” said Consuela, her eyes locked on the screen.

  Lukas said, “Think I’ll grab one too.” His beer had been empty for a while. He followed Mark into the kitchen.

  “Good game.” Mark looked pleased, almost flushed. It was a good game—they were winning, hard—and everyone had been shouting with glee.

  “Yeah.” Lukas stood behind him, probably too close, while Mark dug a couple of cans out of the refrigerator and passed one to Lukas. They popped the tabs and took a drink at almost the same moment, the hiss of the cans loud in the quiet kitchen.

  Lukas found himself staring at Mark without meaning to, just a moment of hypnotic silence. Mark was staring back.

  Mark broke the silence first, glancing down, coughing awkwardly. “Better get back in there before they win the game without us.” He shouldered past Lukas, which had the side effect of briefly wedging him up against Lukas in the narrow kitchen.

  “I think they already did.” Lukas followed him back out, keyed-up and faintly baffled.

  *

  At the next commercial break, Alex said idly, “Hey, Mark, I was wondering—”

  “This is how it begins,” Mark said to Consuela, enjoying how she grinned back at him. “Next thing you know I’m being asked for free legal advice on whatever horrible crime they want to commit. Just don’t do it!”

  Alex laughed. “Nah, nah! I was wondering, what’s the craziest thing you’ve seen in court?”

  “In court, or that got people to court? Because people generally keep it together pretty well once they’re in front of the judge.”

  “Good point. I guess the craziest crime?”

  He told the one about the streaker again—it was a safe bet, everybody liked hearing about a naked guy—and got a good round of chuckles.

  Lukas, sitting on the other end of the couch from Consuela, was watching him intently. The game came back on, which gave him a temporary respite. Until the next commercial break.

  Frank, predictably, took the conversation somewhere significantly more awkward, through a mouthful of chips and Consuela’s four-layer dip. “What about the sexiest crime?”

  “I—you know, most of the crimes I deal with really aren’t sexy.” And the sex crimes sure as hell didn’t count.

  “Sexiest criminal?” asked Frank plaintively. “Got any hot ones?”

  “Well, by the time I see them they’re usually in orange jumpsuits, no makeup, and they’ve been in jail at least overnight, so. Not really.”

  “Jail not exactly a great beauty treatment?” asked Lukas dryly.

  “Not as such, no. They spend all night crying. I assume. I try not to ask.”

  “Don’t want to hear any horror stories?” Nick was helping himself to Cheetos.

  “Yeah, that’s about the size of it.”

  “If you did have a sexy criminal, though,” pursued Frank, “like, a model, wouldn’t that rock, though?”

  “I guess?” Mark frowned, an idea forming in his mind—a bad idea, sure, but maybe one that would work. “I mean, one of the guys I work with has a saying about this.”

  “Oh yeah?” Alex looked interested.

  “He says, ‘Don’t ever f—sleep with someone you’re going to put on the stand.’ That means no clients, no experts, nobody even tangentially related to the case.”

  “What about other lawyers?” asked Frank. “Some of them have to be banging.”

  “Could be a bad idea. I mean, I guess theoretically I could sleep with somebody from my office? But sleeping with a prosecutor could cause problems. And sleeping with a judge is a major ethics violation.” Mark raised his eyebrows sadly. “And most of the other lawyers are, to be perfectly candid, not banging.”

  “That’s a damn shame.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Sounds very dry.” Lukas took a drink of his beer, but he met Mark’s eyes. Mark couldn’t tell immediately whether Lukas had understood him.

  “I mean, yeah. Law, not as sexy as it looks on TV. Who would have guessed?”

  “Oh, oh!” Consuela pointed at the TV. “Shut up!”

  After the game, they all sat around for a while, sobering up, shooting the shit. Mark enjoyed it. Talking to people who weren’t from work was a nice change, even if half the time he didn’t know what to say. Luckily, a lot of the conversation was the normal, repetitive kind, where he could get away with platitudes and trivialities. It was comforting.

  He finally stood up, shrugging on his jacket. “My ride should be here in a minute, think I’m going to step out and wait for it.”

  Lukas raised his can in Mark’s direction. “See you later.”

  “Yeah, see you.” There were a couple of other goodbyes to get through, but he didn’t remember them, later.

  He shifted his weight from foot to foot on the sidewalk outside. Mid-December was getting brutally cold, with an ever-present edge of dampness. Either it had just rained or it was about to rain, perpetually, and there was a wind slicing through his coat like it was nothing. Monday morning w
as going to suck. He had arraignments again.

  His car rolled up. He climbed in and managed not to talk with the driver. Just stared out the window for a while.

  If he was right, he’d managed to get a conversation he hadn’t wanted to have done and over with. In a semipublic setting, no less.

  It should have felt more like a relief. Less hollow.

  *

  Lukas knew a brush-off when he heard it.

  He was going to have to take the stand in the Carville trial. That much was obvious. As an investigator on the case, even if he only had a couple of pieces of information that they ended up using, he would almost certainly end up testifying, in an uncomfortable suit, in front of a room full of people. Mark watching him narrowly with those dark eyes, asking question after question.

  And never sleep with someone you’re going to put on the stand, no one even tangentially related to the case, meant him. He wasn’t oblivious. Mark had carefully avoided looking at Lukas while he talked. Mark had known exactly what he was saying. At least it explained some of it—Mark hadn’t meant anything by the original invitation to his place. Really had just wanted company while painting over the room. It left a sick, ugly feeling in his stomach, an edge of humiliation in there somewhere. Had Mark ever finished painting, anyway?

  That whole exchange had ruined the triumphant final moments of the football game, sitting around talking for two hours with Nick and Consuela afterward, and the trudge home. Normally it was kind of a pleasant, if long, walk. That day the walk left him with too much time to think.

  He made it home, anyway. He had the night off, with a meeting with a potential client in the morning.

  He got a text, around the time he was starting to think about going to bed. Mark said, Thanks for inviting me.

  glad you could make it, he replied, and hit send more vigorously than he really needed to.

  Not sure when the financials are going to be done

  no worries

  Should be done sometime in January if not before

  OK

  He wished Mark would just stop. Stop texting him, stop trying. It was painful, in a way he didn’t want to examine too closely, after those wild days of what he could only describe as hoping. Having a crush. Christ. He was too old for this shit.