Attorney's Run (A Nick Teffinger Thriller / Read in Any Order)
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No one in the Thung firm had been involved at all.
The sedan that swung through London’s apartment parking lot late one night was merely there to figure out why the three women had followed Kiet to Shotgun Willies.
THE DAMAGES TO VENTA DEVENELLE came from Mark Remington, acting on his own, outside the scope of his employment, without the knowledge or consent of Vesper & Bennett. Therefore the law firm wasn’t liable for his actions.
That is, until the law firm got stupid.
Everything changed when the law firm, acting through Sarah Woodward and Thomas Fog, engaged in a variety of acts designed to aid and abet Mark Remington and to protect the law firm.
They bugged London’s apartment.
They ran London off the road on her bike.
They gave London false information in an attempt to implicate the Thung firm.
They had Remington murdered.
And, most importantly, they hired Jekker to kill Venta.
That made the law firm liable under a number of legal theories including RICO and civil conspiracy.
OF COURSE, THERE WERE A COUPLE of additional facts that were known only to London, Venta and Hannah, which they never shared with Teffinger, V&B or anyone else.
Namely, Hannah went to Bangkok too.
Hannah was the one who got abducted, not Venta.
And, most importantly, Hannah killed Alan English.
LONDON PUSHED THROUGH the revolving doors of the Cash Register Building, walked across the lobby and took the elevator up to Vesper & Bennett.
There she met with the new manager of the Denver office.
A man named Charles Meyer.
They met in the same conference room where London had once brought the Trek.
Meyer handed her two certified checks.
The first check was in the amount of $30,000,000 made payable to the order of Venta Devenelle and London Vaughn, Esq. Venta and Hannah had made an agreement to split their cut of the money fifty-fifty on the side, and keep Hannah’s name out of it.
The second check was in the amount of $10,000,000 made payable to the order of London Vaughn, Esq. and her new client, Tessa Blake.
Meyer also handed her two settlement agreements.
“As soon as your clients sign the settlements and you get them back to me, you’re free to cash the checks,” he said.
She stuffed everything in her briefcase and shook his hand.
“That will be later today,” she said.
He nodded and said, “And please give them my apologies, on behalf of the firm.”
“I’ll do that.”
London left.
She had the cases on a one-third contingency fee, meaning thirteen million and change went to her, pre-tax of course, but still, not bad for her first two cases.
97
July 21
Thursday Morning
(One month later)
TEFFINGER SIPPED COFFEE as he walked around the corner of the for-sale house and into the backyard. He put a rose on the ground where Samantha Rickenbacker died, looked at it for a few seconds, and then sat down on the patio in the sun.
The sky didn’t have a cloud.
Robins flew.
Somewhere a block or two away a dog barked.
A ceremony was scheduled this afternoon for Brandy Zucker, the weatherman’s daughter. Her body hadn’t been found yet, but it was clear that she died at the hands of Dylan Jekker, given the story of Tessa Blake about how a female showed up at the boxcar one day and tried to set her free.
Thomas Fog and Sarah Woodward were in jail, without parole, facing the death penalty for hiring Jekker to abduct Tessa Blake, which proximately resulted in the murders of Samantha Rickenbacker and Brandy Zucker. Additional counts charged them with the murder of Porter Potter; hiring Jekker to kill Venta Devenelle which proximately resulted in the attack on Teffinger; and hiring Jean-Paul Boudiette to kill Mark Remington which proximately resulted in the attack on Dr. Leanne Sanders.
TEFFINGER LOOKED UP AS A FIGURE APPEARED.
Tessa Blake.
She set a rose on the ground, next to Teffinger’s, then sat down next to him and stretched her legs out.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said.
Teffinger smiled.
“You look good,” he said. “How’s the baby-growing business?”
She patted her stomach and said, “Good. London called me a few minutes ago and said she had my settlement check in hand. I can pick it up this afternoon.”
Teffinger raised an eyebrow and asked, “How much did she get for you?”
“Ten million,” she said. “I almost feel sorry for the law firm to be paying so much. It was only those three who were the really bad ones.” She referred to Mark Remington, Thomas Fog and Sarah Woodward, the ones who had hired Jekker to abduct her.
“Don’t be too sorry,” Teffinger said. “The firm got rich over the years because of those three. This is just payback.”
“London is letting me keep the whole amount even though she’s entitled to one-third,” Tessa said.
“She is?”
“Yeah,” Tessa said. “She said I did all the hard work.” She paused and added, “I was thinking that since London doesn’t want her one-third, I would give it to you.”
He patted her knee.
“Thanks, but you keep it,” he said.
IN THE AFTERNOON THE CLOUDS ROLLED IN. Venta called, excited as hell about something, and talked him into breaking away from work for a half hour to meet her on the 16th Street Mall.
She wore white shorts, a baby-blue tank top and tennis shoes. But what really grabbed his attention was her hair—raven black instead of blond.
“You dyed your hair,” he said.
“You noticed.”
He laughed and said, “I like it. You could be on the cover of a book.” He meant it too. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a woman as sexy as she was at that moment. He had no more qualms about falling in love with her after finding out she had a solid alibi for when Alan English got murdered.
She kissed him, grabbed his hand and said, “Follow me.”
They entered a stone building near the Paramount Café and walked up to the second floor. Venta opened a wooden door with a key and they stepped into an empty three-room suite that looked down on the 16th Street Mall.
The oak floors were scuffed.
The walls needed painting and repair.
The windows were dirty.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I’d call it a unique fixer-upper,” he said. “Are you looking to rent this, or what?”
She nodded.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about where my life goes from this point, now that I have more money than I could ever spend.” She grabbed his hand and led him to the window. Outside, downtown Denver bustled. She put her arm around his waist and said, “Here’s what I think I’d like to do. Rather than buy a big fancy house somewhere, I’d just like to keep staying at your place.”
Teffinger exhaled.
Perfect.
“Then, me and Hannah are going to rent this space and run our two businesses,” she said.
“And what might those be?”
“Well, the first one is our P.I. business,” she said.
“You’re going to keep doing that?”
“Of course,” she said. “And the second business is to wipe that Bangkok dungeon off the face of the earth.”
“Are you serious?”
She nodded.
“I promised Mackenzie Vampire that I’d find out if her sister Rebecca is alive,” she said. “Now I have the money to start.”
“That’ll be hard to do from here,” Teffinger said.
“Impossible is more like it,” Venta said. “That’s why I’m going back.”
“To Bangkok?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry about me.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Really,” she said. “I’ll be totall
y safe.”
“And what makes you think that?”
“Because you’re coming with me,” she said.
THAT NIGHT IT RAINED.
Stormed is more like it.
Thunder stormed is even more like it.
They drove to the trailhead at the base of Green Mountain and pulled into the back corner of a dark, empty gravel parking lot. Teffinger killed the engine and the sound of the weather immediately intensified.
Perfect.
They got in the back seat and talked for an hour.
Then she slipped out of her shorts and straddled him. Just as she started to rock, he said, “By the way, just for the record, I’m not going to start being nice to you just because you’re rich.”
“Trust me, Teffinger, I never worried about that for a second.”
THE END
Copyright (c) R.J. Jagger
All rights reserved
R.J. Jagger is the author of over 20 thrillers and is also a long-standing member of the International Thriller Writers. He has two series, one featuring Denver homicide detective Nick Teffinger, set in modern times; and a noir series featuring private investigator Bryson Wilde, set in 1952. His books can be read in any order. For complete information on the author and his ebooks, hardcovers, paperbacks and audio books, as well as upcoming titles, news and events, please visit him at:
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