Legally Wasted (21 page)

“I think everyone does,” said Larkin.

“Wicked,” said Ryan as she bounced the ball
off her knee. “Hold this,” she said to Anthony just as quickly as
the ball popped from her hands. Anthony slapped at it, bobbled it
between his palms, and finally caught it between his thighs. Ryan
climbed over him and closed the passenger door with the bottom of
her right pink cleat.

Anthony dropped the ball to the floor as
Trevor put the car in gear and gunned his V8. Ryan finally turned
and stared at Anthony like a python staring at a rat.

“So how did you get the yellow card?” asked
Larkin. He looked to Trevor. “I thought the Meeks clan didn’t get
in fights.”

“I didn’t do it,” said Ryan. “How did you get
framed for murder?” She grabbed her ball back from the floor and
bobbled it in her hands. When she noticed that this made Anthony
nervous, she sped up.

Larkin twirled his finger to indicate getting
back to business. “Let’s go on, Anthony.”

“Right,” said Anthony. He tried to ignore the
wiggly-waggly juggler to his left. “Alex was very upset.”

“I thought you said concerned,” said
Trevor.

“Well she was,” Anthony replied. “She came
into my office just a few days ago. She asked if I would help her
finish one of her drafts for a memorandum concerning a writ of
mandamus.”

“Is he talking Harry Potter?” Ryan asked.

“This was highly strange.” said Anthony. “She
had never previously asked me for any help at all. On anything. I
was a bit curious so I asked if anything was the matter. She shut
my door and said that she was experiencing a personal problem and
that it might interfere with her work a bit. She told me that she
was planning on telling the Justice about it later on. I presumed
by this, that she meant, later on that day. She never told me what
the problem was or exactly when or where she was planning on
telling him.”

“Those are some thick glasses,” peeped
Ryan.

“Later that day,” Anthony continued while he
scooted even further away from Ryan, “I stopped by the Justice’s
chambers to deliver a memorandum concerning a land condemnation
case, but the Justice had left the office for the day.”

“All right,” said Larkin, “all signs point to
yes at this point.”

“What’s going on, Dad?”

“It looks like the bad corrupt judge killed
the girl,” said Trevor.

“Oh,” said Ryan. “I remember that one.”

“Heavens,” said Anthony. “Mr. Monroe,” his
voice had raised a bit so as to declare a bit of order in the car.
“At this time of year, the Justice always stays at his home at
Smith Mountain Lake.”

“Called it,” said Trevor as he double beeped
the horn. “Still got to prove it, but I called that one.”

Anthony shot a mournful look. “I never saw
her face after that day in the office. That is to say, not until
that segment on the news.”

“What was on the news?” Ryan asked.

“The girl’s dead, drowned and probably
fish-nibbled body,” said Trevor.

“Gross!” shouted Ryan, though it was clear to
everyone that she meant, ‘Awesome!’

“So that’s it,” said Larkin as he slapped the
dark leather dashboard. “Classic fall guy. That’s me.”

“The Patsy,” offered Ryan. “The Chump.”

“And all because some old southern wingtip in
a robe got the hots for the smartest sexiest chick with a banana,”
said Trevor.

“Hahaha,” Ryan giggled. “Bananas. You’re
silly.”

“You’re silly,” responded Trevor. “No g-men,”
he said to Larkin.

A hint of a smile crept across Larkin’s face.
It was the first good news in a while. At the very least, they were
not the targets of a ruthless shadow organization or a band of
international assassins. It had been the simplest explanation of
them all, and the most obvious. Alex Jordan had been undone by an
old man’s lust. A powerful man. Why try to pin it on Larkin? Why
not? He was a nobody, a clown of the general district courts who
got a law license because of a loophole. He was as disposable as
his artificial ethics award.

“You’re not a cop?” Ryan asked.

“Oh, no,” said Anthony. “I’m an attorney as
your father said.”

“So you put away drug dealers in court?” she
asked. “People with guns?”

“No. I work for a judge.”

Ryan kicked her pink cleats back and forth.
She flashed a dimple. “So you’re not a
real
lawyer
then.”

“Quite the contrary,” said Anthony with a
forced smile. He gave a little chuckle and nodded at Trevor in the
rearview mirror. “Actually, little lady, I’m about to practice law
in the big city of New York after my clerkship ends. You know they
call that the Big Apple.”

“Law in the big city?” asked Ryan. “You mean,
like on the show?”

“No, not like the show. I will be handling
large civil claims.”

“Yeah,” said Ryan though it was clear she had
lost interest. She kicked the back of her father’s seat before
turning to look at Anthony directly. Larkin watched the two of
them. Ryan’s eyes squinted, and Larkin knew that he had seen the
look before. Whatever secret ingredient the devil had added to
Trevor’s DNA was clearly present and being channeled through the
pixie in the back seat. “
You’re
a civil claim,” she said to
Anthony.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“You heard me,” she said. “Hey, dad.”

“What’s up, buttercup?”

“You know that commercial with the two people
talking who are actually the computers? This guy is
not
the
Apple guy.” Trevor beeped the horn in approval. “The Apple guy is
cool.”

“Did she just call me a civil claim?” Anthony
asked.

“I believe she did,” said Larkin.

“Civil bivil,” Ryan muttered.

“Little, Miss,” said Anthony, “I do believe .
. . that you were a little rude just now.”

“Whatev.”

Anthony rolled his eyes before staring at
Trevor in the rearview mirror. The law clerk fumed. He seemed to be
awaiting the paternal correction, but it would never come.

“Not even a real lawyer anyway,” mumbled
Ryan. Larkin knew instantly that Ryan really did not care what
Anthony did in the Big Apple. She was no different than a baby
shark testing out her teeth.

“Quite the contrary,” said Anthony. “One
hundred attorneys who graduated from my law school, which happens
to be the top-tiered school of Cornell, would kill for the job I
have right now, or the one that I’m about to start.”

Ryan giggled. “How often do you say that to
yourself?” Larkin and Trevor both laughed. “Do you always talk like
that?”

Anthony suddenly kicked the back of Larkin’s
chair. His face flushed red.

“Hey!” snapped Larkin. “Just knock it off
back there.” He turned a bit and shot a halfway decent glare which
halfway hid half of a grin.

“Ooooooh,” said Ryan. “You just got in
trooooooouuuuble.”

“Will you not put a stop to this, sir?” cried
Anthony, his pride wounded and all but pleading for Trevor to enact
some sort of discipline.

“You’re asking my dad for help? I’m eight.
What kind of lawyer are you going to be when Judge Judy finds out
you lost an argument to an eight year-old? I’ll tell her too.”

“Judge Judy is no real judge,” said
Anthony.

“Baloney,” said Ryan. “You’re just scared to
face her because you’re not a real lawyer.” Ryan smiled like a jack
o’ lantern.

Anthony breathed heavily. “I will be working
for Havish Cromwell in New York, little girl. The very top.”

“Havish Cromwell?” repeated Ryan. “You don’t
work for Havish Cromwell.”

“Little girl, I told you that I currently
don’t work for Havish Cromwell but that - -”

“
I
work for Havish Cromwell,” squealed
Ryan. She laughed.

“Little girl,” started Anthony, but again,
Ryan was too quick.

“Actually I don’t work there. That place
sounds really dumb. Are you really dumb? And by the way, you didn’t
answer my question,” said Ryan. “What kind of lawyer are you going
to be if you can’t even - -”

“Enough!” shouted Anthony. He struck his car
door with a closed fist. Trevor immediately swerved off of the road
and pounded the brakes. Larkin’s seat belt pinched against his
chest. He held his hands over his face, a learned reflex stemming
from a night seven years ago involving Madeline’s Dodge, half a
bottle of gin, and a telephone pole.

“You’re about to get a red card,” Ryan
whispered to Anthony.

Trevor twisted in his seat and pointed a long
index finger in Anthony’s face. “Don’t you ever raise your voice to
my daughter.” Papa shark was in the water.

“Daddy?” squeaked Ryan with a trembling lower
lip, “he yelled at me.”

“You got a problem, son?” Trevor asked.

“Just shut up, Anthony,” said Larkin. “Tell
him you’ll sit here and not say a word and all will be cool.”

“Daaaaa-aaaad,” whined Ryan.

Trevor hit a button concealed behind the gear
shift and the SUV’s rear passenger door opened automatically.

“Who are you, James Bond?” asked Larkin.

“The car is seventeen percent after-market,”
said Trevor.

“I don’t know what that means,” said Larkin.
“Look, quit pointing at the kid.” He pushed against Trevor’s
arm.

“Get out,” said Trevor.

Anthony immediately unbuckled his seat
belt.

“Oh, come on, Trevor. Give the kid a break,
he’s just - -”

“Daaaa---dyyyyyyy.”

“Out,” said Trevor. Anthony exited the
car.

Larkin shrugged his shoulders. He at least
knew the identity of the man plotting against him. Kicking Anthony
out of the car for a break sounded like a good idea. “Call my cell
later this evening,” said Larkin as he flipped a business card
through the open car door. It smacked Anthony straight in the
center of his chest but his thick and seemingly stiff fingers could
not lay hold of it.

“Nice throw,” said Trevor.

“I can hit twenty feet. I’m a good
thrower.”

Ryan slinked out of her seat and slammed
Anthony’s door. She smiled through the window at the man she had so
easily defeated. With her two hands she held up eight fingers.

Anthony, who had reached down to retrieve
Larkin’s business card, crumpled it in his right hand when he
noticed Ryan mugging from the back seat.

“We’ll talk,” shouted Larkin as Trevor
accelerated quickly, sending a plume of dust and debris into and
around the law clerk.

“A bit on the harsh side don’t you think?”
asked Larkin.

“When he first spoke,” said Trevor, “I wanted
to swallow my own face.”

“I wanted to jump off of a building!”
screamed Ryan.

Trevor laughed. “I wanted to stick my head in
a wolverine cage,” he said.

“Nice one!” said Ryan. “They kill like two or
three times what they need to eat.”

“Come on,” said Trevor as he lightly punched
Larkin on the knee, “don’t tell me you didn’t want to at least put
some duct tape on his mouth.”

Larkin eventually nodded in agreement.

“Well okay then,” said Trevor. “So now you
know who’s after you. How are you going to fix this?”

“I don’t know,” said Larkin. Ryan began
humming a song and the two fell silent. He watched the drivers of
other cars as they went about their goings-on. Had any of them been
accused of murder? Committed murder? An attractive younger woman in
a Jeep prompted a memory of Madeline’s tan thighs paired with jean
cutoff shorts on a trip to the lake.

“So where to?” asked Trevor.

Larkin thought it through. To his office, he
thought. There was something calming about that place. His focal
point, maybe something to do with zen. After that, to his house, a
gin and tonic, and a call to the magistrate to pre-arrange Melody’s
bail and release. He would pour a stiff second one before hopping
in the car to pick her up at the jail. On the way, he might make a
stop to have just another drink before coming in sight of the
courthouse. He was going to need something better than a typical
buzz if he was going to see bars again that day.

After that was taken care of, it would be off
to Xang’s Chinese Garden for takeout before returning to his empty
home to plot . . . what? A trap to ensnare his enemies? Larkin
could not begin to think of a first step. By then he would be
pretty toasted and his mind would most likely be wandering to
Madeline. Madeline.

“Do you know where you want me to take you?”
asked Trevor.

Larkin blinked. “Just take me back to the
office,” he said after a minute or two. “Let’s start there.”

“Do you need some help on this?”

“You’ve helped me too much.”

“Shut the hell up,” said Trevor. “You’ve been
wrongfully accused of murder and I’m the only one who can really
help you. You have to be thinking of your assets at this point.
Like the survival guy on TV, you have to know what tools you have
and what you can depend on. You can depend on me. I’m good looking
and I have a James Bond car.”

“Hmm,” said Larkin. “All right,” said Larkin.
“Drop me off at my office, but I’ll call you later. Maybe we’ll
grab a late dinner and come up with the game plan to win against
all odds.”

“Sold,” said Trevor.

Larkin nodded. It was going to be another
very long day.

Larkin sat frozen. His eyes stared unblinking
at the digital keypad just outside of his driver’s side door. The
twelve buttons glowed with an eerie green light. It was the same
kind of light that lit monster-infested dungeons and UFOs in bad
late night movies. He knew exactly which numbers to punch to open
the massive wrought iron gate several feet in front of the car, but
his hands stayed still.

His teeth chomped down on his lip. He figured
that like a spur to a horse’s side, pain would promulgate movement.
But his hand did not move. Despite everything that had happened, he
knew that he was about to cross a line.