“Yeah. Just got in…The Blarney. What a cluster.”
Sam the lab peered up curiously, the whites of his expressive black eyes glimmering from the artificial light penetrating the glass.
“Crap…I completely forgot…” Just fucking perfect, Hunter thought. He had completely spaced. They had dinner plans. She’d gotten a sitter and all. And she hated being away from her kids. Plus, she was irresistible, her voice sultry and alluring.
“Don’t even think about canceling.”
“I had a bomb dropped on me right before I left.”
“Yikes. I remember those days.” Before becoming a judge, Sheila had been an associate and then partner at Kruger, Melissa Zane’s firm—top of her class at Penn Law, editor of the Law Review, and a rock star at Kruger. “Who was it?” As a judge, she obviously knew all the partners at his shop.
“Mancini.”
“Mancini? Wow! I’m impressed. You must be doing something right over there.”
“The jury’s still out on that.”
“So without revealing anything privileged,” she said coyly, “what’s the compelling fact pattern? So enticing you’d actually forgo a date with the hottest jurist divorcee in town?”
“The Vito’s Pizza case. Which incidentally I know nothing about, and the trial’s less than a week away.”
“Loads of time.”
“Very funny.”
“I think so.” She paused. “Pretty high profile for a lowly senior associate. The media’s been devouring that case. No pun intended. Even the major networks are getting in on the action.”
A lump formed in Hunter’s throat.
“Yeah. I think Lou Dobbs just had him on,” Sheila said.
“Pretty hot issue, I guess,” Hunter replied.
“It’s hot all right, with the upcoming presidential election and right wingers wanting to make English the official language of the United States. Anyway, that’s a tough case. You should be flattered Mancini picked you.” As an afterthought, Sheila added: “Just curious. Did he give you the option of not handling it? Or is this your big partnership test?”
“More the latter, I think.” The truth was that Hunter didn’t have a choice.
“That Mancini is one sly fox,” she said under her breath.
“Why?”
“Huh?”
“You said he was being sly in assigning me the case. Why do you say that?” What does Sheila know? Why isn’t she letting on?
“Oh. Right.” Sheila played it off. And then she did what all lawyers did best—bullshitted. “I just know what an important client the city is for Whitman. The last thing Mancini needs is to lose this one. But there’s no denying that the cards are stacked against him. Popular opinion, as crass as it comes off, is with Vito. He’s being heralded as a hero for having the gumption to take a stand. And frankly, I can tell you firsthand that working people are incensed that some of the so-called illegals have a nine-to-five and free health care when they can’t even get it.”
“So Mancini knows we’re gonna lose? Is that it?”
“If I were a betting gal, which I’ve been known to be, I’d have to say yes. I think that’s why he picked an associate—to do his dirty work. Why he picked you.”
“And here I thought it was my legal prowess.”
“Worst-case scenario is that the naïve and relatively unseasoned associate blows it and becomes a scapegoat for a crappy case. Not too bitter of a pill for the city to swallow.” In the blink of an eye, the Vito’s case went from daunting and sensational to daunting and dreadful. Hunter was in dire need of a plan.
“Wouldn’t that be a bit too obvious, though? Wouldn’t the city be expecting a partner?”
“Perhaps,” she said, weighing his logic. “But knowing Mancini, he’ll justify it with strategy. Reverse psychology. The case was winnable. No need for a partner. That sort of thing.”
“So how do I bow out? I mean, I already committed.”
Sheila chuckled. “Commitment? Isn’t that sort of a contradiction these days at the big firms?”
Notions of loyalty had become something of a farce of late. And there was no doubt that had something to do with Sheila’s decision to leave Kruger. “Just bow out. That’s how. You’ll be on Mancini’s shit list for a while. But he’s not the only vote on the partnership committee over there.”
The only decisive vote, though. “I need to digest.”
“Go ahead. Just don’t take too long. If the trial’s next week, there isn’t a whole lot of time for buyer’s remorse.” Sheila paused. “Now moving on to stress relief, which should be your only focus come weekend time. Are we still on for later? If you play your cards right, you might even make it to second base.”
“You should’ve said so to begin with,” he replied.
“How predictable. You’re all wired the same way,” she said, taking a jab against men.
“And you’re just figuring that out now?” A pause. “Anyway, you’re probably right. Might be exactly what the doctor ordered. See you in a bit. I’ll call before I leave.”
Hunter clicked off and walked into the living room, wondering what had happened to his willpower. The streetlight penetrated the slats of the vertical blinds at the front window, their shadows forming bars along the eggshell white, bare walls. Sam was curled up in the fetal position on a tattered recliner, totally at peace in his food coma. Hunter smiled at the thought that Sam would be starving again in an hour.
Suddenly a shot rang out on his block. It startled Sam. Hunter flinched at first before ruling out a gunshot. That was not a common occurrence in his neck of the woods. Then it was apparent from the sputtering that it was a backfire. Probably a jalopy polluting the ritzy area just to piss everyone off. Sam ignored it, turning his blocky head away from the window and falling back into his catatonic state. Rest was tempting to Hunter. But as the expression went, there’s no rest for the weary. He had a night of cramming and passion on tap. So he turned and headed for the closet-sized second-bedroom-turned office. Time to get started—for real. Withdrawal was not an option.
ELEVEN
By the time Hunter got to San Kee Duck House, the Mecca of Chinese restaurants in Philly’s Chinatown neighborhood, Sheila was already seated and drinking a Tsingtao beer straight from the bottle. The place was jam-packed, typical for a Friday night. The line of famished patrons was out the door. Acting important, he squeezed his way past, the incensed eyes burning into his neck like Chinese stars. He did manage a flirtatious smile from an anorexic coed who assuredly had no intention of eating anyway. As he entered, the crack of butcher knives carving into crispy, caramel-colored ducks filled the steamy air, blending into the frenetic chatter of conversation and blaring overhead televisions.
Sheila welcomed him with a sexy smile. Hunter leaned toward her and for a second considered kissing her. But he caught himself, remembering their vow to be discreet about things. So he just sat at the two-top, adjusting into the small, ladder-backed wood chair. She peered out at him, taking another sip of beer and appearing thoroughly relaxed. For all the stresses of a divorcee judge’s daily life, Sheila had the remarkable ability to free her mind of worrisome thoughts. She was one of those rare people who somehow always managed to keep everything in perspective.
“You look too relaxed for a Friday.”
“Second one,” she replied, holding up the bottle. “On an empty stomach.”
A youthful waitress appeared. “Help you?” she asked efficiently, gesturing toward Hunter.
“I’ll have the same thing.”
“Tsingtao?”
“Fine.”
The waitress scurried off, but not fast enough, thought Hunter. He was in dire need of a drink to drown out the grating noise of the Vito’s case.
“Litigation’s a stressful existence, Hunter,” she said. “Don’t forget. I used to be one of you. I get it.”
“So that’s why you became a judge?” he said sarcastically. Up until now, the focus hadn’t really
been on their career trajectories. There was an undeniable physical chemistry between them. And they were still very much in the honeymoon phase of the relationship.
“Partially,” she reflected. “I think ultimately it was the control, though. Knowing I could set the pace, make the important calls. I guess I got tired of killing myself and always being at the mercy of the judges. The pressure’s still there—don’t get me wrong. It’s just a different kind.”
Hunter couldn’t help but think of Judge Russo from earlier that morning.
“Want to know how I got through it?”
Hunter was genuinely curious but a bit reluctant to press for fear of seeming amateurish. “Sure,” he replied passively.
“I just kept asking myself, ‘What’s the worst thing that can happen? So, I lose the big case, never make partner.’ Big fucking whoop,” she continued. “Trust me when I tell you that partnership isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“Pretty cynical.”
She nodded. “Not that I’m telling you anything you don’t already know.”
“This is enlightening, actually,” said Hunter as the waitress handed him a beer.
“I bet.” Her discerning eyes bored into him for a split second, trying to get a read on him. Sheila obviously knew something was wrong. “I need to fess up, though.” Sheila discreetly scanned the immediate vicinity for any eavesdroppers the way all judges are obliged to do in public places. “I think maybe I was too quick in forming an opinion about that Vito’s case you just got.”
Hunter perked up.
“Once you told me Mancini was the one who assigned it to you,” she added, “I admit I became suspicious about his motives. Which may not have been warranted.” Sheila, slightly buzzed, paused to consider whether she was at liberty to reveal anything else. It was as if she were engaging in some magical legal ethics deductions on the fly, reading the rules, line for line, in her mind’s eye. “Let’s just leave it at that,” she finished with a decisive nod and diplomatic smile.
Hunter’s first reaction was that Sheila had come up against Mancini in her previous life as a litigator at Kruger. The chances were slim to none she’d ever presided over one of his cases. His underlings took care of things at the Common Pleas level. There were a few fen-phen cases that had come down the pike a couple years ago, and Hunter was pretty sure Mancini took the lead on at least one of them. But he would’ve remembered if Sheila had been assigned to any of them. Hunter, along with about a dozen or so other associates, had worked on discovery. And although he didn’t want to piss Sheila off, Hunter couldn’t just let this one go. “Is it about a case? Did he cross you while you were still in private practice?”
“It’s really nothing,” she answered defensively.
Needless to say, his curiosity was piqued. “Look, if it’s something you aren’t ethically permitted to reveal…”
Sheila stopped him, caving too easily. “Mancini and I used to be romantically involved,” she said self-derisively, sounding repulsed. “There it is,” she added, diverting her eyes in shame. It was obviously a regrettable affair, not one of Sheila’s finer moments. Although Hunter would’ve never suspected a love connection between the two, it wasn’t altogether inconceivable. Mancini was a charismatic and powerful high-flyer, which certainly counted for something on the attraction spectrum. Sheila tried to read Hunter’s reaction. “I would’ve told you eventually anyway. I just wasn’t sure where this was going, that’s all.”
And that made perfect sense to Hunter. Sheila and he had only been together for a few months, and frankly, Sheila’s past wasn’t really any of Hunter’s business anyway. They had come into the relationship, if it could even be called that at this point, as fully consenting adults. They weren’t exclusive, at least on paper, although Hunter had no intention of treating this like a casual fling. He was falling for her and couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. “Was it serious?” asked Hunter.
“Actually, it was. More than I’d care to admit,” Sheila replied. It was the first sign of vulnerability he’d observed since they met.
“This was obviously after the divorce?” That didn’t come out right at all, he thought. Sheila had been divorced for a few years already. Her husband was a prominent Philadelphia dentist she’d met while they were both getting their graduate degrees at Penn. It wasn’t implausible that she’d dated Mancini at some earlier date.
“Right,” she replied as she haphazardly readjusted her shoulder-length bangs. “It was right after. I guess you could say I was on the rebound,” she clarified. “Anyway, I’d known Mancini peripherally for a while.”
“How peripherally?”
“I used to see him, in all his self-proclaimed glory, at all the usual bar functions.” Her tone was acerbic.
He must’ve really done something to piss her off. Despite the obscene number of lawyers in the Philadelphia community, everyone linked into the Philadelphia Bar Association seemed to know one another. At the very most, there were two degrees of separation. And Sheila used to be extremely active with the bar. Hunter was certain Mancini still was, or at least pretended to be. The associates at Whitman, on the other hand, were not necessarily encouraged to participate in bar activities. Unlike some of the other big firms in the city, Whitman didn’t count that time toward billables.
“It wasn’t until a Lawyer’s Club function that we actually got beyond the pleasantries,” Sheila explained.
The Lawyer’s Club was an organization that espoused social “intercourse” between the local lawyers and judges. And clearly it had achieved its objective with Sheila and Mancini. “It was a wacky time in my life, too. I was pretty new to the bench; Joe was still fighting me for custody of the kids. The way the marriage ended.” Her ex-husband had started “drilling one of his hygienists,” Sheila liked to say. “Frankly, Mancini was the last person on earth I’d ever expected to get together with. But we did, and it was exciting while it lasted.”
“The whole lawyer-slash-judge dynamic? Master servant?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“I’m just trying to picture Mancini being overpowered. Playing the subservient one.”
“Oh, he was a kinky one, all right. Anyway, we were pretty discreet. But I guess I lost perspective. Fell a little too hard and set myself up for disaster.”
“Understandable. You were craving something monogamous.”
“Maybe.” Sheila continued, “I was absolutely devastated when I found out he was cheating. It was the worst-case scenario under the circumstances.”
“And obviously Mancini knew about the thing with Joe?” Not that it mattered, Hunter realized after he’d already posed the question.
“When we started to get serious, I told him about it.” Sheila paused, drudging up the pain. “He reassured me. And of course I fell for it. Total misrepresentation.” Couching Mancini’s conduct in legal speak was one way to emotionally insulate herself.
“Someone gets an A in the heartlessness category.” Hunter couldn’t help but recall his own pain after learning of Monica’s affair.
“That’s Mancini for you.” Sheila offered a composed smile, fearful of coming off as a total basket case. She had every right to be one, though.
“So are you ready to run for the hills or what?”
“I’ll stay for now,” he replied in jest.
Sheila smiled warmly. “So now that the cat’s out of the bag, maybe you can see why I’m more than a little suspicious of Mancini’s motives.”
And then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Is it possible Mancini knows about us? he wondered. “Do you think—”
“No,” she interrupted. “Impossible.”
“How can you be so sure?” For all intents and purposes, Mancini was God at Whitman. In fact, omniscience was practically a prerequisite for chairmanship at a big firm. The firm tracked the comings and goings of its associates like Big Brother. Plus it was a known fact that the supervising partners monitored the files accessed by
associates from the corporate servers. Attrition and productivity were on all the partners’ radars, so auditing e-mails and phone conversations was not outside the realm of possibility. Hunter had every reason to be concerned. “I’ve e-mailed you from my company BlackBerry before.”
“And?” she asked dismissively. “Don’t be so…”
“What? Paranoid?”
“Yes. Paranoid. I can assure you that Mancini has much better things to do with his time than spy on his associates.”
Now frustrated, he asked, “When you broke things off, how did he take it?”
“If you’re asking whether he’s some type of a stalker or something, then the answer is a resounding no. He was probably relieved more than anything else.”
“So he wasn’t still into you? I mean, did he try to right his wrongs? Salvage the relationship after you discovered his philandering ways?”
“Nothing really comes to mind. I mean, it was a while ago already.”
“And he never tried to win you back?”
“No.” She paused. “Look, he screwed up, and I got hurt. That’s how it happened.”
“And he never struck you as the jealous type?”
Sheila rested her hand at her chin contemplatively. Hunter noticed the French manicure. A turn-on. “We both know you never truly know someone. People we are convinced we know shock us all the time. Does Al fall into that category? Certainly. And he isn’t the type to exactly wear his emotions on his sleeve, if you know what I mean. So I guess you can say that anything’s possible.”
At that moment, Hunter realized he was probably overreacting. Yet he couldn’t help but wonder whether there was a connection to Sheila that prompted Mancini to assign him the Vito’s case.
Their impatient waitress was tableside again. Hunter ordered, yet Sheila seemed distracted. She was staring at something, or rather someone, at the back of the restaurant. Hunter nodded, and the waitress scurried off.
Justice Hunter Page 6