Show No Fear

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  “And, of course,” Remy said, also sipping at her glass of wine, “he’s spanking hot in bed.”

  “A faithful fellow,” Jack said. “I can see that.”

  “Better yet, rich,” said Remy, ignoring Jack’s look.

  “No, no, no,” Nina said. “Comfortable. That’s rich without the Bentley. Although he could easily afford a Bentley if he was a despicable show-off.”

  “A CEO,” Remy said.

  “Who works part-time so you can go on long vacations to exotic places,” Jack said.

  “Who adores your ambition and supports your long hours,” Remy said.

  Jack’s mouth took a downturn.

  “Someone,” Nina said, “who says things you don’t expect him to say. Smart. Wise. Full of heart.”

  The table fell silent.

  “And blah, blah, blah.” Remy suddenly seemed to lose interest. “God, what weak hopes for the females of America. I’m proud of your lone stance, Nina. Do you know how many single mothers there are in America?”

  Nina saw the look on Jack’s face and jumped in to change the mood again. “Look, Richard showed up four years too late. He needs to get on his expensive bicycle with the painful little seat and ride out of Bob’s life again.”

  Remy spilled some wine. Nina watched her dab at the damage with her napkin.

  “I can imagine how hard it must be for you, Nina,” Jack said.

  Could he know? Did his mother raise him alone? Maybe. It happened as often as Remy had implied.

  “I have some good news about my mother’s acupuncture case, Remy,” Nina said. “As you know, I spent today at Stanford’s medical library. Found a very useful statement in an article about Raynaud’s.” Nina dug in her bag and pulled out some papers. “So here it is: ‘Pricking of the fingers in cases of Raynaud’s is contraindicated.’”

  Remy sat forward. “Really? Why?”

  “Blood circulation is compromised. I knew we needed confirmation that this was a perfectly logical caveat, so I called the lead author of the article, in Cincinnati. He’s in private practice there, a rheumatologist like Doc Lindberg. He’s got a great rep. His curriculum vitae is on your desk, Remy. He has been an expert witness for the plaintiff in several medical malpractice cases. I told him you’d be in touch.”

  Remy said, “That’s fantastic. Where was the reference?”

  “The New England Journal of Medicine. Doesn’t get any more solid.”

  Remy smiled. “Good work.” She looked at the wine bottle in the middle of the table, then poured herself another glassful of wine and drank deeply.

  Jack said, “Now, wait, ladies. Don’t celebrate yet. Believe me, Richard Filsen can’t be discounted. He’s done very well for himself on cases that had a lot less going for them.”

  Nina took in the implications of Jack’s statement. “Exactly what does Richard have to do with my mom’s case?”

  Jack frowned. “You didn’t know? He’s sent us a letter of representation, hasn’t he, Remy?”

  Remy shook her head. “He called me yesterday. I have nothing official. We’re still in the claim-letter stage. There’s no attorney of record. And I had no idea about any personal connection between you and Richard Filsen.”

  Nina bit her lip, thinking, that’s true. “He wants visitation.”

  “With your son?”

  “Yes. And maybe even joint custody, although Jack and I consider that unlikely.”

  Remy thought about what that implied. “Wow.”

  Nina said, “I take it he’s involving himself in my mother’s malpractice claim.”

  “It seems he is,” Remy said.

  A waiter in a white, ironed shirt appeared. “Dessert?” he asked brightly.

  When they said nothing, he said, “Coffee?”

  “My treat,” Jack said. “Anyone for anything?”

  Nina and Remy shook their heads.

  “Okay. Just the bill, please.”

  “What did he say, Jack?” Nina asked as the waiter left. “I heard Richard say something right around when you pushed him out the door.”

  “My fist hurt like fire ants biting.” Jack flexed it. “I heard nothing.”

  “Liar. You heard him. I heard him. Many people heard him. We just need the exact threat.”

  “Okay, he said something disturbing. Nothing to take seriously. C’mon, the guy was bent, hammered, blitzed, clobbered, legless. Not to be believed.”

  “What did he say?” Nina asked again.

  “I’m not sure,” Jack waffled.

  Nina remained silent, waiting, stubborn.

  “I may have heard him say, ‘I’ll kill her.’”

  That stopped Nina from her plan to leave immediately. She took tighter hold of her napkin instead.

  “Who do you think he meant, Jack?” Remy asked.

  He shrugged. “He meant nothing. That’s a drunken bum talking, okay? An inebriate missing his balls, on a rampage to find them.”

  Nina got up to leave. “Thank you for the dinner, Jack, and, well, for everything. I hope Richard Filsen gets his ass kicked from here to Juneau on any and all fronts, including my son’s and my mother’s. Good night, friends.” She walked out, dozens of eyes crawling down her back.

  “Should I go after her?” Jack asked Remy as they waited for the bill. “I mean, whoa.”

  “She needs to digest all this,” Remy said. “What rotten luck, Filsen ending up on the other side. That guy is out of control. It’ll make everything harder—missed depos, frivolous motions, outbursts, settlement-conference tantrums—I wish I could call up the acupuncturist and tell him what he just hired. But I do like and admire Nina. She’s fearless.”

  “Like you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I consider you sexy. Fear factor: unknown.”

  “Jesus, we’re at a law dinner talking about law, and you come up with that?”

  “Maybe you fear I’ll get too close?”

  “I’m not afraid of you or anyone.”

  To Jack, the evening already constituted a total loss. He tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. “So tell me, what was all the glad-handing with Klaus earlier. What was that whispering session with Halpern?”

  “I’m networking, obviously. That’s what we’re here for tonight, isn’t it? You think you don’t need to network? Don’t kid yourself.”

  Jack put a hand on her knee under the table. “What’s going on, sweetheart?” he said gently. She melted at his touch.

  “Klaus is promoting me hard for the judgeship.” Remy glanced at him with that cast of the eyes that always imprinted on Jack’s heart. “I didn’t want to say anything until it started looking like a lock. Judge Sturdy’s going to retire and soon—don’t tell anybody yet—”

  So she was going for it. If anybody had asked, he would have said she was too young. But nobody had asked for his opinion. Klaus had put together her candidacy without even talking to Jack.

  His hand stung from defending Nina’s honor. He’d had a few. He didn’t like this news. Bluntly he said, “That’s why you’re kissing up to Rick Halpern? Because it looked personal.”

  “Don’t talk to me that way. Jealous men are so dreary.”

  “Wait a minute. You proved what you set out to prove. You were on the law review at the University of Chicago. You are highly respected in your work. You’re young yet, so why get out of the practice and put on a black robe? Hasn’t it struck you that where you are right now is where you can do the most good?”

  “Stagnant is your style, Jack, not mine,” Remy said, and, after delivering this verbal slap, looked away.

  Jack had to repress the urge to take her chin in his fingers, turn it so she would have to face him. He realized, dammit to hell, she’s gonna dump me. Dizziness made him blink and hold the table. He didn’t want to be dumped. They were just getting started and he was burning for her.

  After a moment, he said, “Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. You’d make a fine judge. But why push
so hard and so fast? I want to get closer to you, that’s all.”

  She sat very still. “What am I supposed to do, turn down an offer like that? For what? I want that judgeship. It could be a launching point to a bigger career. I could end up doing something statewide, federal—this is my life.”

  “What, do you want to be president?”

  “You sound like an exotic marsupial with a burr up its ass, Jack.”

  “Okay, okay. Listen, I’m in love with you.” He tried to grab her hand, get her to face him, but she stood up, grabbed her bag, and said, “Good night.”

  She left without saying good-bye to anyone else, touching Halpern on the back lightly, familiarly, as she passed him a moment later. Halpern left soon after, Jack noted, then, looking at the empty wine bottle in front of him, wondered whom he would get to drive him home.

  Go home, buddy, he told himself, and don’t ever tell a woman you love her at a law dinner again.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE NEXT MORNING PAUL SHOWED UP AT NINA’S HOUSE IN Pacific Grove over an hour early. A canopy of aqua sky hung over the old house, and Nina watched him look up at it, hands shading his eyes. Situated on a small lot surrounded by fencing, windswept, close to neighbors, Nina’s house boasted an indirect view of the Pacific at the end of the street. The wild rosebushes and picket fence made it romantic looking, in Nina’s view anyway.

  She stood near a flower bed speckled with dead stalks, spraying a line of drooping flowers between her house and the next-door neighbor’s. She wore frayed pants that stopped halfway down her calves and a grubby cotton sweater. Her brown hair had blown out of its clip and into spacey realms, so when Paul arrived, she felt unnerved. She reached into her pocket for something to tie her hair back and found nothing. She turned off the hose.

  Bob rode a tiny bicycle with training wheels, the words HEAT STRUCK plastered in fluorescent paint all over the middle bar. He made repetitive engine noises and drove toward Paul, his drone getting louder.

  “Hi!” he said.

  “Hey there, little buddy,” Paul said. “Hey, Nina, how’s it going?”

  “Well, you can see,” said Nina. “This is their last watering for the season.”

  “The rains will come, you know,” Paul said.

  “Not before my plants die. The rainy season is so late this year. But you’re early.”

  “Too early?”

  “Depends on for what.” They smiled at each other.

  “Come on in and see the place. It’s open.” Nina led him around the side of the house to the cottage, which sat near the house at the back of the lot on an alley. Bob followed them in the door and ran for the bed, leapt up, and began to jump.

  The cottage was uninsulated and bare-raftered, but clean, with a big window overlooking Nina’s flower bed, where a few blooms rose helter-skelter even this late in the year. Paul looked the place over and said it was a little rustic for his taste but that he thought it would do as a month-to-month rental. Nina told him the rent, a reasonable amount, and offered to help him pile wood for the woodstove. He accepted her offer, explaining that he couldn’t afford the Doubletree Inn, where he’d ended up after a week on Jack’s couch. Nina said she had a rag rug he could use, too.

  “Now all I need is a rocking chair,” he said.

  “My aunt Helen’s. It’s on the porch.”

  Their business concluded, they sat on the steps in the sunshine. Bob hopped back onto his bike and disappeared out the back gate into the alley.

  “You let your four-year-old out of sight?”

  She hated the insinuation and hated even more the sharp reminder of fear it brought. Perverts. Richard. Kidnappers. “He stays within calling distance. We know our neighbors. Working in San Francisco made you paranoid, didn’t it?”

  “I see dangers you’re better off never thinking about. We lived in the Richmond district in San Francisco near the Presidio. Nice neighborhood. Ugly shit happened. Let’s leave it at I don’t trust anyone, nice neighborhood or no.”

  “I can’t restrict my son’s childhood because I’m too shaky to let him out of my sight for five minutes.”

  He shrugged. “You’ll lose that attitude fast when you start practicing law or—”

  “Or what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Or when something bad happens to my son?” The ominous suggestion hung between them.

  “Being a single mom’s hard. Being a good parent is hard.”

  “Hmm. You miss the big city?”

  “No. Everything that excites me is here, too. Rocks and racquetball, pretty women—”

  “Your new job?”

  “Nothing worth talking about. Dead people. Bad people. Good people gone bad.”

  “You like being a homicide cop?”

  “I like sitting next to a tempting girl on a porch in the fall, when the sun makes you crazy because you know it’s playing with you.”

  “Even if that girl lets her kid run wild?”

  He spread his hands. “Sorry. Hey, let’s take a ride. Could we?”

  Nina closed her eyes and enjoyed the sun skimming her skin. “I have to put in some time at work this afternoon.”

  “Just an hour.”

  “I guess I could spare an hour. You realize Bob comes along. And I guess we need to pack Bob’s car seat into yours, since mine’s so small.”

  “Will do.” That day, Paul was driving a rented Dodge, which fit Bob’s car seat perfectly in its wide, old-fashioned backseat.

  Nina took them through Cannery Row, John Steinbeck’s old hangout, past the old sardine factories filled now with T-shirts and collectibles, past the Aquarium, the Outrigger pier, and around the instep of the bay to Fisherman’s Wharf.

  “I know, I know, yours is bigger in San Fran, but we have more pelicans.” Hundreds of the heavy, hollow-beaked brown birds roosted on the roofs of the restaurants built onto the pier. Tourists from France, Japan, and Ohio hung over the pier railings, sneaking stale bread to the noisy seagulls and a few loudmouthed sea lions. Otters cruised near the rocks at the base of the pier, but it was the pelicans that amused Bob. He sidled up to a big, grizzled bird sitting on the railing that seemed to look down its beak at all the hubbub. Like all wild animals, it looked wary and unfriendly up close, its silver topknot bristling.

  “Not so close, Bob,” Nina warned as the bird took a side step away from the boy. Bob held out a crust of bread. The bird snapped at it, knocking it out of his hand. Bob jumped back, hollering for Nina. Paul laughed but Nina ran to him. “Just look, okay?” she said, holding him by his thin shoulders. “You don’t have to touch everything.”

  On the way back to the car, Bob dawdled behind. Nina took his hand to keep him close. He yanked his hand from hers and ran to climb a parking meter, and she hauled him off. From the backseat of the car, until he drifted off for a short nap, it seemed as if he spoke up every time Paul tried to talk.

  “He’s tough,” Paul said.

  “Whisper and we might get to talk for thirty seconds without interruption,” Nina said.

  “I’m glad I never had a kid,” Paul said, lowering his voice.

  “Really.”

  “My father made a poor role model.”

  “Don’t they all?”

  “Your dad, too?”

  “Was your father a police officer?”

  “Yes. He and my mother still live in San Francisco, getting older every minute, wondering why to live. It’s not easy. He fell down a steep set of stairs back when I was in high school. Broke both legs.”

  “What happened?”

  “They accused my mother of causing the accident but could never prove anything. Seriously, she might guilt-trip him, but I’m sure she’d never physically trip him. Dad was certainly capable of falling down the stairs all by himself. Still, the fall down the stairs ended the marriage, sort of. Both of them live in the same house, but have separate rooms, like two neighboring countries that both have nuclear-power capability.

  “Any
way, my life changed fast. Enter Jack and rock climbing. He saved my butt more than once.”

  Nina listened, feeling bad for Paul, then said, “And now you work in law enforcement. Why do you like being a police officer?”

  “The short story is I like kicking guilty butts. Excuse me, I mean, apprehending dangers to the community. There’s a mythological element, too: I like bringing bad people to face justice like the Greeks did.”

  “You aren’t Greek.”

  “Dutch, but we have a shared ancient history, I believe. Even you Irish fit in somewhere.”

  “It’s great that you’re still friends with Jack after all these years.”

  “He’s like my brother. You have a brother, right?”

  “I do.”

  “You know how charged that is. Are you and Remy friends?”

  “Friends? No. She’s my senior,” Nina said. “She’s more mentor than friend. I never met another woman who was so conscientious and good at her work. She’s probably sitting at home working on her case files right now.”

  “The dedicated type.”

  “And—you’re divorced?”

  “As soon as my wife sends me the final papers to sign.” Paul was quiet for a few moments. “The older I get, the more I see my parents in me. My face fissures into the same wrinkles my father has. The old house is the one in my dreams. Sometimes I catch myself during an arrest or just pissed at some bad driver and I’m fuming, practically foaming at the mouth, just like the old man.”

  “Hmm.”

  “I work hard. I don’t drink very much. I don’t make babies.” Paul unclenched his jaw with effort. “And I find women who are as unlike my mother as possible.”

  It was a remarkably intimate and unguarded statement. His mother sounded abusive, possibly mentally ill. Awful for a kid. So this rock-solid, reassuring frame hung with male flesh sitting here with her right now had once been a terrified kid.

  “How about your wife?”

  “Yeah, she’d never remind anyone of my mother.” Paul relaxed. “She wanted kids, but I wasn’t ready. That was the sticking point. Not that your son isn’t an exception.”