Chapter 9 - Revelation
It was the weekend, and my routine had gotten really... well? Routine. Other than the somber "show" walking in which was solely for the benefit of the cameras and the talking heads in the idiot box that was television. I was somewhat surprised how familiar I had gotten with the big police building and its inhabitants. While I was friends with several in real life over the years, this was a new found familiarity for me. Familiarity with them at and through work, at and in their station.
My lawyer had been of course completely right. Once you deal with the police for a matter other than they can or will arrest you? Over time, you lose that sense of fear and awe. This isn't any longer a police station, its just a big office building now. These aren't police detectives, they're just guys in suits at work. I managed to impress them a little, too.
Any office building has one key feature these days. Every desk has computers. The police even have their own office drones. And what big office building doesn't have an IT department. I was surprised that a lot of investigation time, was spent on their computers. Sure, detectives have their own cop databases and access to others. But, they spent a large amount of time like anyone. Just on the internet browser, typing things into the search bar. Scanning results, poking for something.
This was where I shine. Any idiot can type in search words, only some people get into the advanced search criteria. Terms MUST contain these terms, any occurrence of THIS term is rejected. This term is higher priority, that term is lower. Rank search results in reverse priority. Weekends only. Daytime only.
I quickly found myself manning the browser and search bar because I do these things like I'm breathing. There's no smoking anywhere in the building, but the interview slash interrogation rooms. Its a technique playing bad cop to smoke and not let them smoke. Or? To wait until a smoker is antsy, then late in the game a new cop takes their turn, plays good cop... and shares a smoke with them.
You can smoke in the interrogation rooms.
Which opened up another revelation to me, well really just reinforced the basics that this was nothing more than any other office building. You lock your buddy or the new guy in the interrogation room smoking and laugh when they kick and yell at the steel door. You taunt them for the secret word to get out, on the intercom. You hide their cigarettes and lighter. You eat their lunch and when they complain? You do it again and leave a funny note to tease them. They hide each others guns and play the warmer colder game to find it. They swap two guys badges and joke about how long "both idiots" even take before they figure out they have each others badge numbers.
I especially endeared myself to them? When they wished they could get into the one detective's desk when he was absent. Really? I took a paperclip and had the desk drawer lock open in seconds. Unless you pay really obscene money for special high security file cabinet and desk locks? Even surprisingly expensive office equipment has the usual. Which is shit.
And the detectives squad room, being there and dealing with them personally and not professionally. They endeared themselves back, to me. These guys were smarter and more inquisitive than the run of the mill uniformed patrol cop. And that's how they made detective. These were the determined ones, these were the clever ones. These were the cops that worked on their own time as rookie patrolmen and figured things out by watching and observing and solving things. Impressing existing detectives.
These guys liked puzzles, and took things as a challenge to figure out the answer and way in, and wouldn't take no for an answer. They were like me. The impossible? Was only that way if you viewed it as just that, impossible. Keep plugging away and you might one day get an answer. They all have their own little pile of "pet case files" in their drawers. The one they take out every lunch and pore over, has to be something on this one.
I first lost my fear and awe of them. Then I got used to them at work. And then? The final step, I actually liked them. My guardian angel lawyer was smiling at me one day, with a smile I couldn't identify. I asked what it meant, she shrugged and said she'd tell me later. She did.
"Bill? See how comfortable you are now. In the police station. You look like you work here if someone didn't know any better."
"Oh. Yeah. I see what you mean."
"Well? That was part of the plan, too. I was taught to do this for defendants in long court cases, too. Nothing worse than a defendant that's clearly nervous of the whole court house. Which is normal at first. What we do, is the longer the case is going to take? There's going to be numerous hearings called for. A hearing on this, a hearing on that. If there isn't? Well, we just drum some hearings up. Also? Continuances. We can get some continuances, the prosecution likes extra time to prepare and juggle the rest of their case load. The prosecution sometimes strings continuances along. Trying to rattle the defendant."
"Does it work? Rattle them, the waiting, the postponing."
She smiled.
"It does if its legal aid representing you. My firm? We make sure we have at least monthly trips to the courthouse. For any reason, or no reason. I'll just schedule something I don't even need them there. Over months of time? They know where all the bathrooms are, all the break rooms. They know where the vending machines are hidden, where you can sneak a cigarette. They know which courtrooms are which. The right suit, the right haircut. If they don't have a briefcase, I make sure they have a file folder I give them. The point is? They start to LOOK like they belong in the court house. People coming in? Start asking my client where the restroom is, or where courtroom B2 is located. And? They know. I've seen the mother of some young defendant, asking legal advice off of my clients before, in the elevator. She just assumed he was another lawyer with me. Now... that? Is comfortable. They forget to be half as nervous. Then, when trial dates start happening, they look and act more confident in the courtroom. And? I'm seeing that here, with you. That's good. If you ever need anything, or want to give them some information you find or figure out one day? You can just march in, and come up and ask around where your detective friend is. No... run around on the phone, trying to get past the receptionist screening calls coming in."
Back at her apartment later, it was Friday afternoon.
"So, Bill. Things are winding down. Slowly, but... they are. Its been weeks now. I'm sorry there hasn't been a breakthrough on your... case. I was hoping. Rooting for you."
I shrugged.
"Its not your fault. Honestly? You did more than I ever dreamed of for me. I really mean that. Its not just words."
We shared that moment, where she nodded.
"Same here. I can tell you really loved her."
I have a blunt way now if I don't watch it. The strong anti-depressant shots.
"How? Curious. I mean, can't I just be happy you saved my own ass."
"I can list reasons."
"Just list them. Anything to talk about, to keep my mind off of... please."
"You know you're long past the point of your ass being in the sling. Anyone else would now want their good name back. You don't care. You don't mind playing perpetrator worked on by the police for the reporters once a week. In fact? You like it. It gives you more access to the detectives, am I right."
I dead panned her.
"My good name? If I could have a bad name, and get her back... I'd trade it in a second. How could I... even worry about that shit for one moment."
She smiled again. That secret smile.
"My point. And another point? I haven't heard one word out of you. About... oh, getting back to your life, picking up the pieces and moving on. What has this done to your work, what will people think and say. What will this do to your career."
"I keep telling you. I have a giant, cheap, shitty house. In a cheap shitty little town. Couple hundred bucks a year in low taxes for my heap? I can live. No house payments, cost me a couple grand outright. No car payments, buy them used and work on them. No toy payments, either. I want a boat, a dirt bike, a camping trailer? I get an old used one, and I work on it. I could eat and live without working for quite a while. Eventually I'd have to work, but... I could go back to my college job of delivering pizza and get by just fine. I honestly don't care."
She nodded.
"You haven't asked or called around, not once."
I was befuddled, my knotted eyebrows surely showed it. She smiled that smile again.
"About..."
"The estate."
"What about it..."
"You don't wonder who gets her stuff? Her car, her stuff. Who knows how much she had in checking, in savings. Life insurance policies, retirement accounts. She might have had stocks and bonds and T bills."
I shrugged easily.
"Pffft. Little miss important? Came from an important daddy. I'm amazed the family isn't out here, claiming all her stuff. Probably the police tape all over her house is about the only thing holding that shit show off."
"And... when the police tape comes off. What then."
I sighed.
"Then? Don't you know what happens when people pass on. Everyone argues. Who gets what. Who took this, who took that. Everything? All... oh, she'd have wanted me to have that. Curiously? Its all stuff they can sell. You know what I want?"
"Tell me."
"I never thought about it, but... her computers. The desktop and laptop, the spare desktop at work I built for her. The IT department doesn't get that. Its not about I paid for the stuff, either. Its that I worked on them. I replaced and upgraded them. I get to... see characters on the screen? I know she typed that memo up. Her clothes? I'm hoping I can put them into zipped plastic bags. So... I can open them, and just... bury my face in them and smell her. I wonder how long I can do that with the bedclothes, how long that smell will last. I mean... those molecules of air? They came off of her, and that's why I can smell them. I wonder... how long I get, before... even her smell... disappears."
"And if her house stays locked up with police tape for the next two years. Murder investigations don't go away like burglaries do. What would you do."
"Honest? Like... some kind of... shrine, I guess. Go there. Buy food we would have bought together. Talk to an empty kitchen, as I eat it. Like some crazy man, I suppose. I feel like I'm... ruined, I guess. Like I'll never get over this."
"See? That's how I know you really loved her. You're not looking to get stuff, and sell stuff. So you have money to go run around with some girlfriend you always had your eye on, on the side."
"Yeah. I... don't really see myself... dating again. Maybe years down the road? And even then... what woman would want some guy that always talked about his past. I have to hear... talk show conversations."
I imitated a girly voice.
"See? You live in the past. I want to live in the here and now. You're not really with me. Your mind is back there with her. Its worse than an ex girlfriend you miss, I can't compete with your perfect ghost. Its just never going to work out."
I went back to my dead calm voice I have now.
"And that? Is if I even can date one day. Which... I can't see that many years into my future anyways. Come visit me in ten, twenty years. You can see if I'm still broken. I... don't want therapy. Lectures from some middle aged therapist twat, about how I have to glue the pieces of my life back together, and move on. Grief counseling? I hated it. Some dip-shit, some lightweight? Is talking bumper sticklers and pamphlets."
"I'm afraid to ask how that went. I noticed it didn't last long."
I did the girly voice again.
"Aw. There's a pamphlet. See, there's this magic locker in your head. That's the hurt locker. We put the bad stuff in there. It no hurt us no more. Whee!"
I dropped back to my dead voice again.
"Its worse than the hurt from the reason I went there for."
She paused.
"I'm sorry."
"You didn't do anything. And without you? None of us would even have a chance of finding out who did this. Not like its looking good anyways, but... at least there's a slim chance now."
"You got hurt more than me. But... we were friends. It hurts me too."
"I know. You guys met through work."
"Oh. More than that. You sure you don't want a glass of wine? I'm having one. Its the weekend. And don't sweat it. You see that big wine rack?"
"Yeah."
"The wine rack. Gift from my senior partner I work under. He was over for dinner, and asked why I didn't have one."
"Oh. I guess he... ordered you one, for winning a case, huh?"
"No. Some guy showed up here one weekend. I had a weekend off, he said he had a surprise for me. He... brought all this plastic in. Asked where I wanted my new wine rack. I pointed. This guy... sets up shop in here. Brings in all this... lumber and screws and tools and everything. He makes this wine rack, from scratch. Then heats up these branding iron things. Made the wood burning decorations you see. Then he... you know, sanded and stained it."
"It is nice."
"Yeah, I guess it is. There's... people want nice stuff when they get older. What. I wish I had this nice car, I wish I had this big TV. Furniture, carpet... whatever stuff."
I shrugged.
"Normal."
"Yeah. The more you make, the nicer stuff you can order, I guess. But... you hit a certain point? I never knew, but... apparently. After a tipping point? Well. Everyone above this certain income can afford all the same stuff. Now? They show off they didn't buy it. They have to spend even more money, hiring someone to make it for them. So they can brag its handmade, show you the artist carved his mark on the corner. Now when you have someone over for dinner from work? They say... nice wine rack. Where did you get it? I like it."
"Hmm. I always thought rich people just ordered stuff, from some... secret rich people catalog or website I wasn't allowed to have."
"No. Now, you get to entertain them with the story of the wine rack. How the craftsman came, and you describe all the stuff he used making it. How you had to burn incense for weeks to get rid of the campfire smell from the custom wood burning. I mean, its strange."
"How."
"Well. In college? An entertainment center, is a couple cement blocks and some pieces of lumber from the home improvement store. Needed sturdy shelves. Got them. Good to go."
"Been there, done that. Got the T shirt."
"Then? You graduate and get going in your degree field. Then? You finally can buy stuff. You get a real entertainment center, from the department store."
I shrugged.
"Adult furniture."
She smiled.
"Yeah. Then? You have the same furniture any asshole that boils donuts at the doughnut shop has in their efficiency apartment. Your friends have a better one. They mention it. You don't have to go buy a nice entertainment center, but... you're over their townhouse, you see it. You start to want one. Even if you never cared before. I'm not talking about... a social climbing asshole, a person who desperately wants to put on airs and pretend they're old money now. I'm talking... normal."
I nodded. I got it.
"No. My buddy shows off some... 900 dollar fishing pole, brags it up? Yeah, I want a new pole now to replace the one my dad gave me as a kid, but... I don't get the 900 dollar pole. 40, 50, 60... tops. Then? I take a certain pride, the night I manage to get more fish than him with my 60 dollar welfare pole, as he calls it, bragging his up."
"Okay. Him? Trying to put on airs. You? Normal. My entertainment center example? Same as your fishing pole."
"Yeah. People are people, under it all. There's pain in the ass blue collar white trash, every bit as bad as the rich guy showing off stuff and rubbing your nose in it."
"Your girl talked about you. Girl talk. I know when people try the... nose rubbing on you? You could care less."
"Well, As long as we're sharing stories for nostalgia. Finish the story about the wine rack."
"Yeah. So... the holy wine rack. Eventually, you can't just go buy a wine rack any better. Now? You want to out do the nice wine racks everyone and their uncle in your peer group have? You gotta kick it up a notch."
"Oh. I get it. Your senior partner? Wanted you to have something even better. A craftsman came and built you one custom."
"Uh huh. You get to tell the story. See, there's a progression. You're young, kids don't care about... furniture and brand names and stuff. As you grow up? You begin to understand nice stuff, from... discount store. Then college? You're back to like a kid in a clubhouse. Just need cement blocks and a piece of lumber. It works. Then? After college... you go back to understanding brand names again. I was surprised there was another step. The custom built one is the next step up. The... imperfections? Are now proof its hand crafted, and somehow better."
"I understand you're really proud of your wine rack. That... Jesus Christ's woodworking descendant crafted on site for you."
She laughed.
"As I moved up? Yeah. I wanted a nice car, a nice apartment. I finally got some nice furniture, because by some point? Why not. But... the senior partner? I guess he wanted to introduce me to the next step up. The... what did you call it? The holy wine rack, that Jesus built. He was just trying to thank me, for closing a big defense case."
"And how much value do you place on the holy wine rack. Be honest."
"I think of myself as... normal. Is my sofa expensive? A little. But trust me. I'm not throwing it out and getting the newest designer one that gets popular. My ass? Likes this one. Now, is it nice? Yeah. Can't feel any springs. You can sleep on it? As nice as any mattress."
"You want... the 60 dollar fishing pole, not the 900 dollar fishing pole."
"Eh. If the 900 dollar pole does something in real life? I'll think about it. But... if the 60 gets fish fine, what's the point. Now. If all my lawyer friends had 900 dollar poles and I was doing that every weekend? Won't lie. I might get a 100, 200 dollar one. Just a little bit of keeping up with the Jones's. But no. The only reason I have the holy wine rack that Jesus Christ built? Gift from a senior partner that likes my work. On some level? When you get a good one that's bigger and sturdier... the point comes, the rest is just brand name and... in this case? You now get a story to tell people, I guess."
I chuckled.
"So. That's the secret to actually being... arrived, and all. You learn that brand name only gets you so far. You now have to search out... different and custom, and pay extra so you get that story."
"I guess. Do you know where your girl was, in the... progression of things? From cement blocks and pieces of lumber... to designer names and shame you don't have what your peers have."
"She was raised by a rich important guy? But he had a farm so he could... shelter them. She understands that grandma's old desk and chair, is sturdier than anything you could buy today at any price."
"Yeah. She was. I've been to her townhouse. And... where were you. In... this progression."
"Oh. When I was faced with... adult life? I went the other way with it. The more my peers tried to... 900 dollar fishing pole me? The more I doubled down. On... cement blocks and pieces of lumber for entertainment centers. My... girl was frustrated with me, that way. My house, my cars. My furniture. She hated my car."
"I've heard. Girl talk. Tell me anyways. I miss her a little like you. Makes me feel good to hear it again."
I sighed and remembered.
"My used cars. I'd be all excited. Hey, honey. Got a new car. Got a great deal. Its 20 years old, looks like new underneath. Low miles. I'm all excited my... cop car from an auction? Has a metal rack for all the police communications equipment, and a place to put a laptop. I'm a computer buff, a HAM radio guy. I'm like a little kid got a new red wagon."
She smiled.
"She got frustrated. How do you pick a used car. Do you go to the used car lot, and go... this one. This, is the one my girlfriend will hate the most. I gotta have that one. Oh great, I can put even more radio crap and antennas on it. So my girlfriend is embarrassed when her coworkers see it, and get made fun of for it."
"And that? Wasn't really her. That? Was... frustration. From the girls at work, giving her the business. Girls being catty girls."
"They were... in on some plot. Started by her family, to undermine me and get rid of me. I used to joke her dad paid her coworkers to get in on the great plot against me."
She smiled, it was an entertaining sarcastic story.
"Your... life was about to change. That way. She was... coming around."
"How."
"I had her over for dinner one night. You might not know this. You met me before."
"I know. Some lunches. I got prepped with... lectures. Don't embarrass me in front of my defense lawyer friend. Don't talk about... the stuff you talk about. I like it, but act like you're out to lunch with your boss."
"How did that make you feel."
"Honest? I don't like it. Told her, I'd do it. But... I'm not spending my life, trying to talk and act and think the approved way, all the rich city faggots do. Present company excluded, naturally. I told her. This? Is the reason I don't want to find work in the city. I don't want it, I don't need it. I mean, I'll tow the line a little bit, but... I'm not pretending to be someone else, born in a better zip code. She was mad I refused to go to that big party at the governor's mansion. I don't get anything about... mentioning I was at the governor's party. And I don't like watching everything I say and do, lest someone figure out? I'm not in their social strata. And I have my breaking point, too. I'll leave if it gets too much."
"My point. Like I said. Your life? Was about to change. She was... over that. Like I said, I had her over for dinner."
"You started with that. And..."
"Hmm. The holy wine rack. See. You met me long before lunches. Guess you don't remember. She was graduating law school. There were a bunch of... times running around with her graduating friends? We all went to parties at each others hometowns. All that."
"I remember that period."
"I was one of her law school friends. She went... the way she went, and I ended up being the typical starving defense attorney. Took a free pro bono case on? Won. Led to someone noticing me, getting that underdog win, and... it leads me to here and now. Guess I'm like her a little. Sure, my parents had money, but... I wasn't born to this nobility class I move around in now. That's just all the trappings that came from succeeding at work."
"How was my life changing."
"Dinner. I made sure she knew I wasn't... nose rubbing her, telling her the story of the holy wine rack, Jesus built. She was... worried over you, and her. And... starting to feel guilty, about... getting on you about that stuff. She knows I just made good, and I don't really care about this stuff. Not like most of the others in this little political city do. And... that wine rack? Was going to change your life."
I looked at it.
"How."
"She's just staring at it. Running her fingers over it. And she looks at me, and says it."
"What."
"You. My Sikey? He builds his own furniture. Big, heavy stuff like this. Brags how strong it is, instead of a thousand dollars for a computer desk that sags. People laugh at that stuff, but... this wine rack? If I had him here, and showed him. I bet he'd say he could make one. I told her, you do that? You don't tell anyone. You have your catty girlfriends over for lunch. You tell them the story of the... Jesus Christ built you a custom wine rack? Watch them all run out and fan out, spending big money to hire wine rack craftsmen, so they can brag and tell the story now, too. Then? Have him build you a computer desk. A huge one. Do it again. before you know it? You won't get made fun of. You'll be envied."
"Really."
"True story. Led to her staying late, and talking. A big girl talk, not a silly one. There's one senator? He has a cop car. Spared no expense in making it look like a real cop car. Like... an adult, playing policeman or fireman. We joke behind his back. His wife? Is lucky the rich senator didn't like fire engines as a kid, or... she'd get picked up from the nail and hair salon in a hook and ladder truck. I told her. You? Have him pick you up and that senator for lunch at the sushi joint? Watch how quick shit changes. That guy gets one taste of your communications equipment and laptop... that's the missing ingredient in his... imitation cop car. Where's his cop communications equipment. Where's his antennas. You'll be a goddamn hero. He'll be begging her, to get that guy back so he can get that stuff in his car."
"Hmm. I'd become the... custom wine rack maker, basically."
"Not all rich people? Are like the snobs. Some of them? Are just people that made good, and... underneath it all? This is just a game we play for work and success. We laugh about it when we're together."
"That's... a nice story? But bittersweet, because..."
"I know. It was a long talk. There's more. One girl at her work? When the catty girls get up to their tricks. On you, having mean fun with her. She's the one that laughed. Hey. At least he finished college and has real degrees. Has his own career. Your husband? Flunked out of college, and only has a career because daddy's a congressman."
"I'm not alone, in my fight. I never knew."
"We came up with lots of stuff. Her computer at work? She's the only one that has one. She had her plumbing replaced, with the new... water lines?"
"Pex. Its called pex. No more bursting water lines when they freeze. They thaw out? Water flows again. No more winter floods."
"Yeah. Her girlfriends, married? Are complaining how much a plumber charges to replace the entire water line system. Its thousands of dollars. You rewired the whole townhouse? Thousands more for electricians. I explained, over this long talk. He's a great product, you're just not packaging the product right. You get him around a big wig that likes hunting and target shooting? Plenty of those. You make your own hunting rifles and go do... gun competitions. There's another senator, coming and taking her to lunch. Like cop car senator. All trying to get... the thing they can't buy at any price. And she? Her guy, is once again... the craftsman that can give them that."
"I never knew."
"You were about to. I explained it, the way I... sell my client to the jury. Explain them right. It means as much or even more, than the legal argument itself. I told her. There's tons of these things, you just have to get in the right frame of mind, and figure them out."
"Wow. Go on, make me feel better. Not every day a boyfriend gets to hear how great he might be. Fact I get to hear it after she's gone? At least I get to hear it."
"I just... I don't want what memory you get, to be... colored by the stuff was going on. It was, like I said. Changing. One girl at work, suggested to the one guy. Why don't you try saying that to his face. I heard he was a fighter. I saw videos of him working out in a gym with other fighters. Might not be the best idea in the world to go running your mouth like you can do around the wine and cheese crowd, you know. Guy kills large animals and cuts them up and eats them. Guy goes and fights, just for fun. Get some of your trust fund buddies to razz him one night, see if you can get his goat. I think? That'll be very entertaining. For the rest of us watching. Maybe not so much... for you."
I shrugged.
"One senator? Wants to know why he cant have a computer like hers. Why can't he have one. There would be another senator coming and being friendly with her, wanting his own computer like hers. And her boss? There's... a thing at work."
"What thing."
"Paranoia. People have mentioned. Some senators? Seem to know things, they really shouldn't know. You know. One mentioned something in conversation? The person was alone. Unless he was listening in... bugged that office? How could he know that."
"You honestly think some offices get bugged?"
"Its politics. Think. Use that big brain. Watergate? Political parties are not above, breaking in the middle of the night, and looking for the files. If you get to know what the other side is planning on using for a platform, ahead of time? You could craft all the perfect answers ahead of time. Pull the rug out from under all the candidates that election year. Think Watergate. Your girl? Was running the state senate democratic policy committee for a while. Policy. A lot of people were worried about security, and bugs."
"Yeah. I used to sweep her office, for transmitters. Its a HAM radio thing. I know what I'm looking for. I don't care how well you hide the transmitter? You can't hide those radio waves. I know how to detect hidden cameras, too."
"Yeah. And she had you sweep her pet senator's office, too. That senator? Was bragging. Other ones? Got jealous. No one trusts the capitol police know what they're doing, sweeping for bugs. They're cops, not HAM radio guys, like you are. Like I said. Your life? Was about to change. She was... about to quit feeling guilty that she wasn't embarrassed of you, but... guilty she was letting the catty girls get the better of her and make her feel bad."
"She never wore her ring. If I pitched a fit for two weeks? It came out of king tut's little wooden tomb, and she wore it for Valentine's dinner. As long as we were out somewhere where no one would report to daddy about it. You know how that made me feel? I got over it, but... its not fun."
"And that? Was changing too. She was going to start wearing her ring. Especially around... big wigs that knew her dad and it would get back to him. We had that talk too. You can't live your life like this."
"She loves her family. And her dad always threatened to disown her, and tell her not to come round, over me."
"Yeah. I told her to show a little backbone. Call his bluff. Dare him. And if he actually does it? Fuck it. You have a nice townhouse, you have a good career. So what if you don't get some... inheritance years from now. What are you going to do. Screw around, and ruin your relationship? Because you're dad and mom don't think he's from the right zip code? Life's too short."
"And she was doing it. That... was that phone talk I told you about."
She shrugged.
"You said it yourself. You saw the ring. Yeah. The plan? Was to just... wear it, and wait for you to notice. Let you gradually notice... you weren't getting the raspberries about... stupid stuff that doesn't really matter. She... was embarrassed she was doing that. I'm sorry this all comes, too little, too late. I just... want you to know how great things really were, before..."
"No. Thanks. I appreciate it."
"So. You sure you don't want a glass of wine? Its the weekend. I'm having one. I don't get a lot of weekends off like this. Your case? Isn't a lot of leg work. When I'm concentrating on the one big thing? Which is this. I don't have to juggle other cases. This... free or paid, was high profile. So? It was job number one, because of the cameras and publicity. I'm a little guilty myself, I get weekends off until I start doing other smaller cases, like normal, until something big comes up."
"I really don't drink a lot, and... with the medication and all, and my moodiness... I just figured it was best not to. Not to mention. My... zip code? Didn't teach me how to drink the proper wine the right way."
She smiled, as she went about the ritual of popping a cork and all that.
"Another little secret? Me neither. You see all those bottles over there?"
"Yeah."
"As you win cases, or clients are happy. Its customary. Your boss gives you little gifts. My senior partner? Made the joke once. He got me the Jesus Christ wine rack, so it made it easier for him to give me little gifts. I told him, I'm not a big wine person. He said all the better. It would look more impressive when I had clients over. You know, full wine rack? And if someone knows that bullshit, they can see labels that impress them? Like that."
"You drink wine. Just enjoy the good stuff."
"Pffft. If I buy wine? I buy what I had before, and it tasted nice. Like... a cheap sweet peach blush. You know. Girl drink. I only... break out the good stuff? When someone is over that might appreciate that shit. I hate dry white, and some of the other stuff. I... let the guest pick the wine. I figure, they know what wine goes with what food? Let the plumber do the plumbing."
"That works, huh?"
"Sort of. I learned one thing, though. I quit serving any seafood when people come over for any important work dinner kind of affair."
"Why? You don't like seafood."
"No. I love seafood. Problem is, I let them pick the wine? I guess its a rule. Dry white, goes with seafood. And I hate dry white. Tastes like bat piss."
"Okay. A glass or two. I'm not a wine buff. You can... teach me about it, I guess. Anything that takes my mind off of... well, its good."
"Okay. I'm having my friend over for dinner. For me, if you can imagine what I mean. Its not for work. Its personal. My friend doesn't like to come over, when I have... clients here like this."
"Yeah. Scared of the naughty guys that killed their wives and girlfriends... but rich enough to hire you and your boss, to get them off."
"Mm. Something like that. But? That friend, is for me. I invited you a dinner guest too. Hope you don't mind."
"I don't want a date."
"Well. Its a guy, and he's straight.. so."
"Who's the dinner date, then."
"One of my investigators. You met him already. You guys get along. You both... gab about... radio shit. That one. He wanted to run an idea past you. He said, you're clever. Like... investigators like him, are supposed to be. His words."
"Oh. Thanks."
"Great. I get my friend, you get a dinner companion too. While I... socialize with my friend... you can have some after dinner conversation as well. I realize I can't make you... feel better... but..."
"No. I appreciate it."
"Great. So. Your wine class. You ever had really sweet wine? Even little kids like it if you give them some."
"Yeah."
"Everyone does. Now. I'm not Jewish, but. Stereotypes being the most horrible thing in the whole world? There really are a few Jewish lawyers around. Shh. Don't tell anyone, I don't think anyone knows."
"Funny."
"Yeah. Anyways... see this bottle? You want sweet stuff, anyone can drink? I mean, you can get anyone drinking wine with this stuff. Not at all expensive. You see, Jews have to have a glass of wine sometimes. You need wine around that even little kids can get a juice glass of it down without making a face. And that? Is cheap sweet wine, that everyone likes. You can get a beer only guy, chugging wine with that stuff. Great to convert people."
"It makes them Jewish?"
"No, silly. I meant, converts them to admitting wine is okay."
"Oh. Beginner's wine."
"Yeah. After a while, the super sweet gets to you. You want something a hair less sweet. So? This one, here... again not expensive. Tastes like fruit juice. Great second wine, after you got a new convert. Then? You get curious. Merlot. A semi sweet Merlot? Cements the deal. A fully neutral Merlot? Polishes it off. When you reach that point? You're officially a wine person. Just not a wine snob."
"So. What did you pick."
"An almost neutral Merlot. Here."
I complimented her on it, and she said coming from someone that didn't drink wine? That was praise.
"So. Question."
"Sure."
She settled back into the overstuffed soft leather couch, slung a leg up on the cushions and draped an arm down the top side, really slouching in.
"After all the wine rack talk. Why do you have two wine racks. And hell, while I'm at it? Why do you have two dining rooms."
"Hmm. The one, you know Jesus built it for me. The other one... there was a wine rack here when I moved in. But. Wine racks are a little like book shelves. If you're gonna really load one up? You get to looking at it and wondering if it has what it takes over the long haul. So? I replaced the one that made me nervous. I asked my senior partner, if I could have the number of... Jesus Christ to come back, and... he sent the guy back as another gift. Which explains the other wine rack. Might as well make it really thick at that point."
"Is, there a difference in the wines? On the different racks."
"The thick one? You'll see a lot of those gallon jugs on it. The gallon jugs are more of a bulk for a party thing. Most of the better stuff? Comes in more or less regular size bottles, in the long Jesus rack."
I nodded along.
"Does this have anything to do with having two dining rooms?"
"Hmm. You got me there. All the... big clients, the senior partners? There's a dining room, and... the other is called a dinette, or a kitchenette. For breakfast or lunch, not big dinners. Plus, if I have people over? I can put stuff out on the dinette, and we still have the main dinner table free."
She had a slightly sheepish look with her wan little grin.
"I feel a little silly. Like I need a second wine rack, or a second dining room. I ain't married, don't have kids. If it wasn't for having people over for work, or... parties? I need a second dining room with its own wine rack, about like I need a second asshole. So? Yes, its mainly because the other kids have that, so I do too. Please don't think I'm a snob, I'm really not. I... grew up more like your girl did, than most of the other lawyers at my firm. My dad was like hers, he did well... but we lived in the country, too. Like she did."
I shook my head, smiling.
"Okay. You're off the hook. I'll let it slide."
We sipped our wine and kept talking.
"So. Bill. Been getting to know you."
"Well. We live together now and all. Yeah."
We both chuckled at the little joke. I'm about as interested in getting laid now, as the Mediterranean fruit fly is interested in reproduction control. I never so much as looked at her sideways all this time, let alone made the tiniest pass or comment to her. Mercifully, she seemed to be the same. I hoped the glass of wine and dinner wasn't a signal.
"I liked your comment, about... trust fund babies. Rich city faggots? About sums them up. I grew up around... regular guys. Not the trust fund crowd. Some of them really do act like spoiled six year old's, and wouldn't have a pot to piss in, if their important daddies didn't arrange their life for them to act like they do."
"Yeah. I mean, I dig it, when guys wanna show off some. The hell. What's the point of a nice new dirt bike or fishing boat, if you can't show it off a little."
"No. Its normal. I mean, when they're not normal."
"Yeah. I like the ones, always putting everyone down. Acting like they're great looking, when everyone knows the only reason they pull decent ass, is because they're born rich. Most girls love that. If daddy threw him out and took back everything he ever gave him? I don't think they could put themselves through that exclusive ivy league college. I don't think they'd have that business given to them. They like to act, like they have something ordinary people don't have? And I'm sure some of them do. But... most of them? I think relatives gifting them a million or two, to start their business? Is the main reason they have that sports car and yacht. Call it a hunch."
"Too true. You're right about most of them. I heard about the one time you got in some trust fund baby's face. You were out at some... nice bar, your girl made you do the dinner with work crowd thing?"
"Yeah. I tried. I really did. I kept my mouth shut, I tried to use the right fork and everything. I followed her advice. No talking about... hobbies. All that. You know, polite chit chat."
"I know the drill. I call that... imitating the living dead. My senior partner? We joke privately about that. Go on."
"He had too many glasses of wine and a few shots. Got to acting like he was not only better than everyone else, but... he started running me down. I finally got him alone outside the bathroom door. I, uh... you know. I had to scarf him up and explain the facts of life to him."
"Which were?"
"I don't do yoga and power walking at my gym. My gym? Has all free weights, not sissy la la machine weights. You can keep running your mouth all night, I don't care. I don't have to deal with your silly ass after tonight's over. But if you keep your mouth up with my girlfriend? If you keep making comments and pushing me, like you think you're a tough guy, just because everyone is afraid of your daddy suing them? You ain't going to like where this goes."
"Which was?"
"Told him. I don't run my mouth like you. But... we don't have a sissy faggot gym. We have heavy bags and speed bags. Boxing rings and wrestling mats."
"He was a sissy faggot, I guess."
"He got the idea real quick. He shut up, and most importantly? He quit running her down in front of her work friends, and... I was actually keeping him from getting hurt. He'd already got to the beer muscles stage. Shoving me, making jokes about taking a swing at me... there's a line. He crossed it."
"Hmm. What did he think about this... revelation."
I chuckled.
"He reminded me, quickly. About how important daddy was, and how that meant the chief of police is a close, personal friend of daddy. Has dinner at his house all the time."
"And, I'm sure you had a come back."
"Yeah. I told him, you're right. Sure thing. But... that? Is tomorrow morning. You keep it up? This, happens tonight. Right here and now, out in the parking lot."
"Some of the office girls at her workplace? Don't like him. They think he's an ass. Everyone has to be nice to him, because daddy's so important. That's all. What you did, it worked though, didn't it."
"Oh yeah. He figured it out. Look. I'm not like that. That's... my last resort. Not my first resort. But... when you have to deal with someone that... golfs with the mayor and the police chief? That's how you handle them. In the parking lot, put the fear of god into them. They suddenly realize. There's another world out there? And they can be hurt."
"And... what do you do with a... dangerous felon."
"The opposite. You get them in court? All of a sudden, there's no intimidating lawyers and judges. Their own attitude fixes them. Once again, you take the fish out of water. Why are you all interested in this."
"Well. Your dinner date? The investigator. The one you get along with. He... is of a like mind as you. You'll see."
"Hmm. And... your dinner date? I get to meet whatever... trust fund baby boy you picked out for weekend fun."
"Actually... who ever said, it was a boy."
"Huh?"
She smiled easily.
"I have a girlfriend. Not a boyfriend. And don't worry. The investigator? Is married. Just figured I'd mention it. Less of a shock for you."
"Oh. Sorry. I... didn't know."
"Why would you. I can see your girl never... mentioned something."
"About..."
"Duh. Me, dummy."
"What about you."
"We went to law school together, I told you that. I never told her in law school. I knew she came from a small town, a farm in the country. We were just friends. When I noticed she was working here, where I landed? I was surprised to see an old Duquesne law school alumni I was friends with, that had the same corporate law degree as I had... I had to do lunch and catch up, you know."
"Naturally. How abnormal was that. I'd love to run across someone from the college computer lab where I work."
"Yeah. I might of... misread her. When I ran across her here."
"How..."
"A couple of girls at work. She never talks to guys when they do go out. She doesn't wear tons of makeup. And... Friday? At the capitol. Everyone does casual dress day. I mean, even the senators do it. They come in with jeans and cowboy boots if that's their thing."
"So?"
"Mm. She wears... work boots and jeans and a T shirt and a flannel. On casual day. I might have gotten the wrong idea."
"About..."
"You really don't get it. I... started taking her out. Buying her dinner. Took her to a couple plays. To one or two... wine and cheese things at art galleries."
It dawned on me where she was going.
"Oh. You... made a pass at her. You thought, maybe..."
"I didn't make the pass. If they pick up on it... fine. If they don't? Nothing lost."
"You know? If some guy at work, started taking me out for fancy dinners, and picking up the tab? Taking me to plays and art galleries..."
"You... are more streetwise than her. I thought she was just shy."
"How did you cover it up?"
"Oh. Don't worry about it. I did really well for myself and got lucky with the defense lawyer thing. My treat. Lets have some fun. If you're not dating anyways."
"She didn't get it."
"Nope."
"So. It wasn't awkward."
She smiled. Not ashamed, just a little abashed.
"There's an art to the soft pass. You... let the thing? Sit out on the table. See if they notice it. I actually like her as a friend. I just... that's not her."
"Oh. Sorry I..."
"Sorry you what. You're fine."
"I would have.. phrased certain things differently around you. If I'd have known."
She laughed. It seemed genuine.
"Like what."
"I might have not used the phrase... city faggots so many times. I might have went with city sissies. I don't insult present company. I don't mean anything by it, its just a phrase."
"Well. I noticed. That one detective, pretty sure you know he's gay."
"Pffft. Hard to miss. I know. No reason to make fun of him. He's the one doing me the favor, not the other way around."
"Well. You weren't... uncomfortable around him. He's a great detective, by the way. Working around other cops? He kinda has to be, to have their respect even though he's a gay guy in a straight man's world. Cops are a little more butch than most other careers."
"Oh. That. I don't hate gay people. Do I like it? No. I mean... I don't want it for myself. But... I don't care what people do on their own time. That's their personal life. I do prefer it, though..."
"Hmm. You prefer your gays in the closet."
"No. Mention it, so I don't make an off color joke, guys do guy jokes. Its a guy thing. And... if I don't know? I hate being... trapped. They get you to make a gay joke, and... then go off on you. I hate that shit."
She laughed, and again it was genuine.
"You're okay. My phrase? There's gay people, that are regular people. Then? There's the ones. All day, every day... has to be a gay pride parade through the office. Everyone has to walk on eggshells. That? Isn't me. Some people know, I don't care. I just show up to bring a date to dinner affairs? With a girl instead of a guy."
"Why is it even a thing, you have to tell me all this."
"No reason. I like being taken seriously as a lawyer. I'm not one of those... affirmative action hires. So. You won't be at all shocked, when my dinner date gets here, and... we sit close to each other for a movie after dinner. Or... when she stays over, or... she's here for breakfast."
"Hey. Like I care. Can I ask a question? Not really a joke, just..."
"No. I'm... like the detective is, actually. If you don't tease your friend a little bit? You know your friend is uncomfortable and is just being polite, or... just being politically correct. He cracks a few fag jokes in front of new cops around him, to let them know he's not... a gay pride parade. Me, him... we're... like I said, normal gay people. So. Please, tell me the smart ass question. So we can be comfortable, like we've been all along."
"I told you I like motorcycles."
"Yeah."
"Your dinner date. Do I get to see some... big custom Harley Davidson? I like bikes. That, would be pretty cool."
She laughed, and it was another genuine laugh.
"No. Sorry to disappoint. She... is a legal secretary. From some other law office in town. She's friends with a court reporter that knows me. She kept quizzing her, on the lawyer she likes. My court reporter friend is married, and... arranged for us to meet over dinner and drinks one night. So no. She's not... the biker babe kind of girl. Not sure most people know, if she doesn't tell them. Like me, more or less."
"Purple hair, always screaming..."
She busted a gut laughing.
"Good one. Uh, no. That's... one of the gay pride people. Like I said, don't think you would know."
"Pity. I liked the idea of the Harley. I like bikes."
"Hmm. Sorry. I don't like... that. Well. Your next question will probably be... which one of us is the guy, huh?"
"You're carrying this conversation. Hope its doing something for you. I honestly don't care. I'm just happier knowing you weren't feeding me wine, trying to make a pass at me. I really don't know how long its going to be before I'm interested in dating."
"Well, you're fine there. But. Use your brain what I like. You already know."
"How could I possibly..."
Then it dawned on me. She was making a soft pass at my own girl. Seeing if she picked up on it. She liked, ironically, what I liked. My girl? Was tall. A real tomboy. Big boned, though feminine enough. Not a hair and makeup and jewelry girl. Mine didn't play sports, but she was the same way. Farm stuff and horses. I figured her girlfriend? Was probably either a farm girl, or a sports girl in college.
"So. Do you want a second glass of this Merlot? I am trying to convert you. To think wine is okay. Not to convert to Judaism, or to march in parades with a unicorn dildo strapped to your head."
I chuckled.
"Half a glass. Still not sure what drinking does with the shots they have me on to not wind up in the fetal position in the corner, or... if I'll get mood swings. I'm damaged goods, you know."
"I know. I'm sorry. I hope... you find something some day, and... you can get on with your life. I've seen things like this before. Occupational hazard. Some clients? Have a nuclear bomb dropped on their life."
"Yeah. That's putting it mildly. I'm actually scared to try to get off those shots one day."
"I can tell you this much about it."
"Yeah?"
"If... you try, and... it gets bad? Well. Former clients sometimes keep in touch. A couple reported on... that."
"What was that like."
"A couple days of hell. They laid on the floor... everything was... weird. They thought they were losing it. You tell a doctor, a therapist? They tell you.. see? See? You need your medicine. Just take it."
"And..."
"Some... listened. Stayed on it. Some? Kept their shit together, and got through it. They described... it was bad. But, that after a couple days... it... kind of "broke", and they got through it."
"Sounds fun."
"I didn't have a choice. You were in bad shock. You were curled up in the fetal position, helpless."
"No. You did what you had to. You... got me through this. I, uh... I owe you my life. Glad I don't have to blow a gay guy, to pay you back."
She tittered.
"I can see why your girlfriend liked you. You are fun to be around. I'm sure dinner will go fine. In fact, I'm more worried about my girlfriend, than you."
"Why. You said she's not a gay pride parade."
"No, not that. Its an occupational hazard. For work. We informally call this... babysitting an important client, for a big case. As you could imagine? Most of the clients that would stay here? Would be... rich guys. You can imagine the jokes she teases me with. Also? She cares about me. The same way you and your girlfriend cared about each other. She doesn't like the idea that a client that might have killed his wife, is living in my apartment for weeks on end. So..."
"So..."
"So. If she... kind of does twenty questions. Prying a little. She doesn't mean anything by it. Take it with a grain of salt. She means well."
After one glass of wine, and the second half glass... she managed to all but pour another one down my gullet. I stopped her at just under a half glass. I told her I'm on the comedy club rules. The two drink minimum rule? I'm on a two drink maximum rule.
I tried to make her let me help her with getting dinner ready, but she insisted no. I bugged her in the kitchen anyways, and did little stuff regardless. Linguine and clam sauce, but she added things like some shrimp and scallops and some extra spices and dashes of vinegar. I never saw a teaspoon of beer mustard in a dish like that either, but she grinned and grabbed my chin and shoved a teaspoonful of the sauce in my mouth? Yeah. She can cook.
I did the math. My girl? Was a little taller, a little of a tomboy. She said she liked "what I liked", so... a feminine tomboy. She must be the more feminine one. She was doing the gourmet cooking, seemed like a safe bet. She made some shrimp dishes to go with the linguine clam dish, and a fairly regular linguine noodles with Alfredo dish. No real main dish surrounded my side dishes. She went with several bigger than side dishes all put together.
Her girlfriend was a lot like my girl. A little taller, a little bigger boned. No short crew cut and mirrored sunglasses. None of the strutting bull dykes put through them, looking for all the world like a comedian imitating a macho guy. Her girl was tall and tan and raw boned for a girl, though again like my girl? Feminine about it all. They definitely were both more than feminine enough they weren't a femme and dyke pair, they were most assuredly lipstick lesbians.
They weren't in any kind of closet or shy about it. A few open mouthed kisses here and there, they both put their arms around the others shoulders or waist, they popped food into each others mouth. The smiles, the eye contact, the banter. The casual touches and playful bottom swats. All what you'd expect from a guy and a girl at a couples dinner. You casually let the room know you're an item with body language without putting on too much of a show.
Her girlfriend was polite about it, but I did get a twenty questions sweet interrogation that lasted a while. She finally eased off, I must have passed whatever muster she required of me. Plus, I wasn't the first client in the news cycle locally that her girlfriend had babysat here.
My dinner "date" arrived shortly after her own did. They both made polite jokes and teased me and the investigator enough that we were all friends and had fun with it. After dinner, and small talk time? Snacks and movies. By the start of the second movie, my legal eagle had her shoes off and laid her head on her date's lap to finish movie one. Before the end of the second movie though, she had rotated and her back was to the movie, her face an inch from technically the new girl's lower abdomen. I say technically, because it was suggestive to see it. I know if I hadn't had crime lightning strike my life and ruin me? I'd have difficulty standing up without embarrassment if either one of the two girls put their face in my lap in that fashion. After the briefest round of small talk after movie two, it was time.
My eagle's face buried in her preferred "nest". The polite little stretches and fake yawns. The coy smiles, the eye contact. One little "stretch" and wiggle had her face scraping her lower tummy so suggestively she feigned indignant and swatted her bottom for it. When she got faux complaints, she teased her like I would have my own girl often enough. Giggles, grabbing the hip to hold her for a few more playful bottom swats. The pretending to try to get away from it, and she grabbed her wrist and manhandled her right back for a few more.
She was the guy, the leader, the bold one. My eagle blushed and tittered as she laughed and took her wrist and showed her she could hold her and swat her as she pleased, and that she obviously liked it. It would pass for a big sister teasing the littler sister, if it didn't have the obvious sexual connotation to it. I smiled, it honestly reminded me of the same performance me and my Rain put through us often enough before. It made me miss my girl.
She finally finished her game. If she would do what she was told? No more bottom swats. She smoothed her hair, and sweetly "demanded" that she was to go and get her a final glass of wine. To the rim. And get herself one, too. And? Take them both in the bedroom, and get ready for bed. She'll be in directly. She sat and all but gloated like a guy would in the same situation. Before saying goodnight, and bidding us well. The door to the bedroom closed. The deadbolts both snicked. Some swatting and giggling was muted, before less noise and then what sounded like soft jazz music went on.
My dinner companion, the investigator I got on with well. He had been waiting for our own talk. He laid out his plan idea to me, to see if I approved. He was proud of his idea. I had to admit? He thought big.
"Okay. You, think you can get the governor to just... hand over his phone records from this date to that date, and... he's not supposed to think a thing is up. That an investigator is asking for his phone records."
"Actually, I do think that."
"No warrant."
He shrugged and grinned. Pleased with himself.
"None. See, I'm doing the governor a favor."
I laughed.
"By going over his phone records? This, I gotta hear."
"Here's the story I came up with. Big law office. Important client's son. Always in trouble, dad always pays, actually a good client that way. Easy to believe that one, right?"
"With you so far..."
"Now. Naturally, I can't name a client, much less the important client's son, another client."
"Naturally."
"But... what if the high spirited and ornery son, had made a few wisecracks about threatening the governor. Nothing too specific? But, nothing everyone is comfortable hearing, either. I can't go to the cops, its not specific enough of a threat for that. Also? Lawyers are hamstrung by confidentiality rules. Now. A governor is always going to get a few threats by phone and email, fact of life. The state police have to follow up some. It just happens. With me so far?"
"I am."
"Okay. I? Am generously offering, to do the best I can do. My law firm wanting to be as polite and accommodating as possible to the esteemed governor. I can't give him the phone number or email, that would get my lawyer in deep shit. Confidentiality and all that rot. But. What if... I were to simply scan the list of numbers and emails. If I get a match? I'll point it out. But when I don't get a match? That will clear the son from being on radar for any phone or email threats that have been made. See? I'm doing the governor a favor, by looking."
"Think that will actually work? If it does, it's slick."
Even better? Someone can watch me, I'm just looking. Not like any human being can memorize the zillion numbers and emails anyways."
"True. How do we get the numbers and emails back, now that you mention it."
"Eyeglasses. Built in camera, to the thick frames. I'm an investigator. You know, like military eyeglasses? A little thicker frames. I'll have a video recording of every call and email between both dates I specify."
"You? Are slicker than snail snot, you know that?"
He smiled at the compliment.
"I do try."
"I'm gonna get going. Can't share this with all the detectives? But the detective sergeant heading this up, I'm okay with him. Me and him, off the record... we'll slowly vet all the numbers and emails. See what we can see. But, the wife and kids are expecting me. And, if you hear any strange noises in the middle of the night? Don't call the police... pretty sure its consensual. Good night."
He smiled as he made a friendly comment while jabbing an index finger at the double locked bank vault secure bedroom door, and what we both knew was going on behind it. He obviously knew both of them and this was normal. We shook hands, and I thanked him copiously, before ambling off to bed myself. Sleep didn't sound like too bad of an idea, at that.