Runaway Justice (David Adams)

by Chad Zunker

  Jumping on his laptop, David did a quick search for Mack Reid in Wallis, Texas. There were a few mentions of the name but nothing prominent. But there was one photo from the Wallis News-Review showing men from a softball team holding up a trophy. Mack Reid stood in the middle. The guy had a thick beard and must’ve been six-five and 250 pounds. The thought of this giant man striking a kid like Parker made David livid. What kind of loser did something like that?

  David looked up when he heard a ruckus coming from the hallway. A lady yelling at someone? What the hell? David jumped up from his chair, hurried through the entry room, and opened the door to the hallway. Right outside his door, he found an attractive woman in her midtwenties with long black hair, dressed in all black—black leather jacket, black slacks, black heels—standing there and berating Bobby E. Lee, who was the firm’s unofficial security guard. A homeless black man in his seventies with a prominent white beard, Bobby Lee wore the same gray Confederate soldier uniform every day and sat in a chair outside the firm’s office door like he was guarding a military fort. Every time David entered and exited the office, Bobby Lee would stand and salute him like a loyal soldier. The odd behavior just came with the territory as David interacted with the homeless community day in and day out.

  “What’s going on out here?” David asked, looking back and forth between the woman and Bobby Lee, who seemed shocked at the altercation.

  “I’ll tell you what,” the woman snapped. “This dude here just tried to steal my purse. He’s lucky I didn’t break his damn arm.”

  David looked over at his office guard. “Bobby?”

  “No, sir, Mr. Adams. I swear. The purse dropped off her shoulder, and I was only reaching down to get it for her. I wasn’t trying to steal nothing.”

  David glanced back at the woman with a head tilt.

  She frowned. “What? You’re going to believe some weird guy in a costume who probably shouldn’t even be inside this building?”

  “Bobby is my friend,” David clarified. “And someone I trust.”

  “Oh, well, fine. But I don’t want him touching my purse again.”

  “You’ve made that very clear,” David said, annoyed. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Actually, I’m here to help you. You’re David Adams?”

  “Who are you?”

  “Jess Raven, special investigator.”

  She stuck out her hand. He hesitantly shook it.

  “You’re Jess Raven?”

  “Why do you look so surprised?”

  David had received an email yesterday from Judge Laymon Martin with a note saying help was coming his way along with an attached court-appointed document assigning Jessica Michelle Raven to forty hours of pro bono investigative work at his firm. David had a cordial relationship with Judge Martin, who always seemed supportive of his efforts to provide legal assistance to the city’s underprivileged community. So the judge would send people David’s way here and there to help out around the firm as part of their probationary terms. Something David really appreciated since they were understaffed. When David had gotten the email from the judge yesterday, he’d pictured a tough older woman with short gray hair who’d maybe been a detective or something. Not someone who looked like the woman in front of him.

  “You’re just, uh, not what I expected,” he said.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” Jess replied. “But, hey, if you want to go ahead and sign off on my hours for the judge, I’ll gladly walk out right now and leave you and your purse-snatching best friend here alone.”

  David grinned. “Well, I’d hate to disrespect Judge Martin’s request in that way.”

  David led Jess inside the entry room of the office suite, shut the door behind them. “Welcome to Gray and Adams.”

  She gave a quick look around. “Wow, this place is a real dump. No wonder you don’t have any office photos posted online.”

  “Do you always say whatever is on your mind?”

  She flashed a quick smile. “Yes, it’s part of my charm. You’ll grow to appreciate it.”

  “We’ll see. So what did you do to get probation?”

  A small shrug. “Put someone in their place, that’s all.”

  “Come on. Give me the juicy details.”

  “Fine. Do you know Edward Rossali?”

  “I know of him.”

  Edward Rossali was the senior partner at Rossali, Meekins & Tobian, one of the bigger corporate litigation firms in town. David’s old firm, Hunter & Kellerman, used to battle them all the time for big-money clients.

  “I was an investigator over there for the past year.”

  “Was?” David asked.

  “Well, things changed after I cracked three of Rossali’s ribs with a punch and then shattered the tibia bone in his right leg with a kick.”

  “Ouch. Why’d you do that?”

  “Sleazeball was under the impression he was paying for more than just my investigative abilities. He grabbed my ass, and I worked him over good.”

  “Three broken ribs and a broken leg?”

  She shrugged. “I might’ve gotten carried away. But believe me—he deserved it. He was always harassing other female staff members. I can’t tell you how many hidden smiles I got from the staff while I was being escorted out of there in handcuffs. I was more hero than criminal that day.”

  “So he pressed charges?”

  “Of course. He straight up lied to the police and told them I assaulted him when he confronted me about stealing property from the firm. So I spent the night in lockup.”

  “Damn. What a jerk.”

  “No big deal. I look good in that gray-striped jumpsuit.”

  “But Judge Martin only gave you probation?”

  “Yeah, I don’t think the judge was buying too much of Rossali’s concocted story about me being a master laptop thief. But I guess he couldn’t simply let me walk out of his courtroom scot-free after I’d put the guy in the hospital. So here I am, at your service. Just keep your hands to yourself, and we should be fine.”

  “Good advice.”

  “So what kind of law firm is this, anyway? Your crappy one-page website doesn’t say too much. By the looks of this office, I’m guessing you mostly represent pawnshops, drug dealers, and pimps.”

  David laughed. “Not quite. My partner handles family law and adoption matters. He’s at a law conference in Chicago this week, so I doubt you’ll meet him. My primary focus is on street clients, although I operate all over the map doing general litigation.”

  She pitched her head as if something had just dawned on her. “Wait a second? Are you that lawyer I read about a few months ago who represented the homeless guy in that case with the dead prosecutor?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  Jess rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “I’m just not much of a fan, that’s all.”

  “Of me? Or of my clients?”

  “The latter. I haven’t decided about you just yet.”

  “Fair enough. What’s your hang-up with the homeless?”

  “It’s just . . . nothing. Bad experiences, that’s all.”

  Jess didn’t expound, and David didn’t push her on it. “So, what’s your background? How’d you become an investigator?”

  “Do I have to interview for this free gig?”

  “No, I just like to know who I’m working with.”

  “Good. Because my reference list really sucks at the moment. All right, let’s see. Dad was a police officer. Mom worked in crime scene forensics for a while. After serving in the navy, I joined the Naval Criminal Investigative Service in Washington. NCIS, like the TV show. Then Mom got really sick last year, so I moved back to Austin to help take care of her. My boss in DC knew a couple of bigwig lawyers here in town, said I could make twice the money doing investigative work for these corporate law firms. Mom’s healthcare costs were skyrocketing, so I took the gig. Things were actually going pretty well until Rossali got ha
ndsy with me. What about you? Why’d you become a lawyer?”

  “Pretty simple. I grew up dirt poor and wanted to be rich.”

  She took another glance around the office and scrunched up her face. “I think you took a wrong turn somewhere, buddy.”

  David laughed. “It’s a long story. Look, I have to run over to a court hearing this morning. Can you hang, and we can talk more when I get back?”

  “Sure. I’ll just be here clutching my purse tightly.”

  FIVE

  David came fully prepared to Parker’s court hearing in front of the juvenile judge. First thing that morning, he’d filed an official report with CPS asserting physical abuse involving Parker’s foster father Mack Reid. David was determined to see that situation all the way through to ensure the monster never got his hands on another vulnerable child. After giving the judge a copy of the CPS report and explaining why Parker had been living alone out on the streets, David had then offered an alternative housing solution at a local at-risk youth facility called Hand-Up Home. David personally knew the director there and had already made a phone call. Parker wasn’t crazy about the idea but agreed to it anyway. As the kid had told him last night, he’d do anything to not go back to his foster parents. Because Parker had no other marks on his criminal record, the judge was sympathetic. David was able to get her to release him with a probationary period. The theft charge would be dropped as long as Parker stayed out of trouble.

  After the hearing, David waited in the lobby until Parker was finally led out of a back room. He was no longer wearing the ridiculously oversize orange jail jumpsuit. Instead, he had on a pair of blue jeans, worn sneakers, and a black sweatshirt hoodie with superhero Iron Man on the front. The hood was already up over his head and covering his disheveled hair. He looked like a normal child. A kid who should be playing video games with friends, or soccer, or hanging out at the mall. Not a kid living on the streets, struggling to find his next meal.

  They exited the building and hit the sidewalk toward the parking lot across the street. Parker didn’t seem to be in much of a mood for chitchat, so David just let him be for a moment. He figured going from an abusive foster situation to living on the streets for weeks, getting arrested, staying overnight in jail, and now being sent to a brand-new place was a lot for any twelve-year-old to process.

  They climbed into David’s old truck.

  “I thought lawyers made a lot of money,” Parker remarked, his eyes scanning the inside of the beat-up vehicle.

  David smiled. “Some do. You hungry?”

  “Starving. Food in there sucks.”

  “You like breakfast tacos?”

  “Sure. Anything!”

  “I know just the place.”

  David drove straight to Torchy’s Tacos, where they sat in a booth inside and gorged themselves on a full order of breakfast tacos. Parker ordered three with egg, bacon, and cheese, and he ate all of them before David had even finished his first.

  “The judge was nice,” David remarked.

  “Yeah. But do I really have to go to this place, Mr. Adams? I promise you, I can handle myself just fine out on my own. I don’t need any supervision.”

  “You have to go, Parker,” David insisted. “The judge only released you to me because I assured her that you would be in a stable situation under my direct care. If you skip out and the judge finds out, it won’t go well for either of us. You’ll be right back in there. So you have to promise me you’ll be on good behavior and not do anything to make things worse.”

  Parker relented. “I promise.”

  “Plus, like I told you, I know the director at Hand-Up Home. Keith’s a really good guy. You’re going to like him. It won’t be so bad.”

  “It’s just, well, I’ve never had much luck in places like this. Older boys always pick on me because I’m smaller. I feel like I’m always walking around with a dang target on my back or something. I don’t know.”

  “Keith won’t let that happen, okay?”

  Parker nodded, then eyeballed one of the tacos still sitting in David’s food basket. “You going to eat that or what, Mr. Adams?”

  David smiled, shoved his taco across the table. “Help yourself.”

  Parker did just that, ingesting it in big bites just like he had the other three. The boy ate like he hadn’t seen real food in weeks.

  “Hey, Parker, you like football?”

  Parker looked up, still chewing. “Football?”

  “Yeah, you know, touchdowns, field goals, and such.”

  Parker grinned. “Sure, I like football. My dad and me used to throw the ball around the backyard all the time. He always said I had a real good arm—that maybe someday I could play ball in college or something, if we kept practicing, but . . .”

  David knew how that sentence ended, so he jumped back in to keep the mood light. “I played football in college.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  David nodded. “When I was your age, all I wanted to do was play in the NFL. I was pretty good, too, until my knee got busted up. So I had to quit.”

  “What position?”

  “Quarterback.”

  “Cool! That’s what I want to play.”

  “Anyway, I was thinking about getting tickets to the UT game next Saturday. The Longhorns are playing Oklahoma State. Want to go with me?”

  Parker stopped chewing. “For real?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m friends with another lawyer who has season tickets. He’s always offering them to me. I thought it might be fun for us . . .” David could see the boy’s eyes unexpectedly begin to water. It caught him off guard. “Hey, what is it, kid?”

  Parker swallowed, quickly wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. “It’s . . . nothing. I just, my dad . . . I’ve just never been to a real football game before. That’s all.”

  “Well, then, let’s change that.”

  Parker’s smile grew so big, David could see every tiny bit of bacon and egg still in the cracks of his teeth.

  After breakfast, David made a quick stop at a gas station to fill up his truck on the way to the Hand-Up Home. He asked Parker if he wanted any snacks. Parker went straight to the candy aisle and grabbed himself a mega-size TWIX bar.

  “This is my favorite,” he told David.

  “Then you’d better get at least two of them.”

  Parker excitedly grabbed another giant TWIX bar, and then David paid at the counter. Climbing back into the truck, Parker tore open one of the candy bars and began munching on it as they made the short drive to Hand-Up Home off Thirty-Eighth Street. David parked in a small lot in front of the administration building. The facility had been created as a safe haven for children healing from physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, neglect, or abandonment. Many of the kids suffered from serious emotional disorders and needed twenty-four-hour supervision, so they wouldn’t harm themselves or others. Because of this, the facility operated under tight security.

  As they walked up to the main doors, David could tell that Parker was getting a bit nervous. The kid kept lagging behind. David put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, trying to reassure him. Inside, David told a receptionist they were there to see Keith. The director walked out of a back hallway to greet them a few seconds later. Keith Bagley was in his midforties with graying hair and a beard and came across as one of the friendliest guys David had ever met. He’d gotten to know Keith over the past year because many of Thomas’s clients were in the thick of the foster care and adoption process. Keith had been in their office on several occasions.

  They shook hands. Then Keith knelt in front of Parker.

  “You must be Parker.”

  Parker nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “My name’s Keith. Welcome to Hand-Up.”

  “Thanks,” Parker quietly managed.

  “How about I give you a quick tour of the place?”

  Parker shrugged. “Okay.”

  Keith led them through a series of secure doors—eve
ry new section entry required a card key—and into the main children’s wing. Keith explained how forty kids currently stayed with them. Most of the rooms had bunk beds shared by boys close in age. There were classrooms along one side of the wing. Keith said that a lot of the children did their studies on-site, while a few were still bused off to various schools. They exited a glass door to a back courtyard, which had picnic tables, a basketball court, and a deluxe playground. The entire courtyard was encircled by a tall black wrought-iron fence with spiky points at the top. It wasn’t exactly razor wire, but its purpose was the same—to keep flight-risk kids from running.

  Keith asked Parker if he liked video games.

  Another shrug. “Sure. Who doesn’t?”

  “Well, some of the other boys around your age are learning how to make their very own superhero video games over in our computer lab. Do you want to join them?”

  That seemed to spark his interest. “Yeah, cool.”

  “I’ll give you a minute with David and then walk you over.”

  Alone, David knelt down in front of Parker. “What do you think?”

  “It’s all right, I guess.”

  “Just all right? I’d love to have my own basketball court.”

  They shared a small grin.

  “It’s only temporary, okay?” David added. “Until we can find you a stable foster situation with someone I’ve fully vetted.”

  Parker nodded. “I know.”