Authors: William Lashner
Daniel Rose slumped on a couch in the living room, his fists balled, his features impassive, his stare intent on the cartoon playing on the television set. He was a stocky, towheaded kid with pale skin and slip-on sneakers, and he was doing his best to ignore me, which is pretty much par for the course with my clients.
In the kitchen Julia Rose and Isabel were having a face-to-face. Isabel was not too pleased with Julia or her explanations. Julia’s friend had to run an errand, and so Julia had been forced to watch her baby daughter, which was why she hadn’t been at her apartment that day or the other times Isabel had tried to visit. Julia had no way to get to the parenting sessions she had promised Isabel she would attend because she couldn’t find the bus schedules. Julia had missed her appointment with the doctor because Daniel was too sick to go out.
There was a technical legal term for what Julia Rose was shoveling to Isabel. The whole scene was enough to weary a saint, and I wasn’t a saint, so instead of letting her toss shovelfuls onto me, I’d left the kitchen and sat myself beside Daniel on the couch.
“Daniel,” I said, trying to speak over the sound of the television, “do you know what a lawyer is?”
Daniel stared at the screen and said nothing. I was tempted to switch the TV off so he’d give me his full attention, but if I switched it off and he ran away screaming, that would end my chance to speak to him that day. And I didn’t mind that the sound of the television was keeping our conversation private from Julia in the kitchen. So I waited for him to respond to my question. When he didn’t, I answered it for him.
“A lawyer is someone who helps people who might be in trouble. I’m a lawyer.”
No response, no reaction, but he did chuckle at a pratfall on the screen.
“Today, Daniel, the person I’m here to help is you.”
I waited. No response. I hadn’t had much real experience with children, and I wondered if a four-year-old kid could understand anything I was saying. Probably not. I was about to give it up and go back to Isabel’s conversation with Julia when Daniel, still staring at the television, finally spoke.
“You talk funny.”
“Well, you look funny.”
I thought he’d laugh at that, or smile at least, but he didn’t. He tightened his lips and kept his gaze glued to the television. I licked the scab in my mouth. How do you talk to kids anyway?
“The reason I talk funny,” I said, “is that I lost a tooth. You want to see?”
He nodded.
I opened my mouth, pulled down the edge of my lower lip so the gap was clear. He turned to look at it, nodded, turned back to the television.
“Did it hurt?” he said.
“Not really.”
“I didn’t do nothing.”
“Anything, son. You didn’t do anything, and I know that.”
“So I’m not in trouble.”
“But you still might need a lawyer, and that’s why a nice judge lady hired me to help you. How does your mother treat you?”
“Good.”
“Well. She treats you well. That’s good to hear. Does she give you enough food?”
“Yeah.”
“Does she give you baths?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does she read to you?”
He shrugged, twisted up his fingers.
“Does she ever hit you?” I said.
“When I’m bad.”
“How often are you bad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does it hurt when she hits you?”
“Not really.”
“Do you like watching TV?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you watch a lot?”
“My mother lets me.”
“Do you ever play with friends?”
“I don’t know. I’m watching.”
“So am I, but we can still talk.”
“I can’t hear.”
“Sure you can, Daniel. Do you have many friends?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who are some of your friends?”
“Can we be quiet now?”
“Not yet. Do you ever go to the park?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you do there?”
“The big slide.”
“Who watches you in the park?”
“My mom.”
“Does your mom have a boyfriend?”
He waited a moment without saying anything and then picked up the remote control, increased the volume.
“What’s his name, your mother’s friend?” I said.
“I don’t know.”
“Sure you do.”
“Randy.”
“Randy. Good. How does Randy treat you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does he play with you much?”
“No.”
“Does he read to you?”
“No.”
“Does he give you baths?”
“No.”
“Does he ever hit you?”
He picked up the remote, raised the volume again.
“Turn it down in there,” shouted Julia Rose from the kitchen.
Daniel lowered the volume. He was pretty good with the remote, was Daniel Rose. I didn’t know if he was good with LEGOs, with puzzles, I didn’t know if he liked to turn the pages of picture books, but he was pretty damn good with the remote.
“Hey, Daniel, would it be all right if someday, with your mom’s permission, I took you to the park?”
“I don’t know.”
“I could buy you some ice cream. What kind of ice cream do you like?”
“Chocolate.”
“Okay. Good. Do you like sprinkles?”
“Yeah. The pretty ones.”
“All the different colors? Okay, chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. Just do me one favor, Daniel. Can you smile for me? A big smile? Give me a smile to let me know we’re friends and I’ll leave you to watch the television all alone.”
He turned his head and faked a big smile and then turned back to the cartoon, and my throat tightened on me.
“Julia has agreed to go to the parenting classes,” said Isabel when I returned to the kitchen, where the two women were sitting. Isabel was now holding the neighbor’s baby. “No excuses, right, Julia?”
“That’s right. I promise.”
“I’m going to make sure the judge keeps you to that,” said Isabel. “And the doctor’s appointment. You can’t miss that. You understand, Julia, that this is getting serious? If these things don’t happen, if you don’t appear before the judge at your next hearing and follow all her recommendations, then we might be forced to take your son away and put him in foster care.”
“You won’t do that,” said Julia. “Promise me. You won’t.”
“We will do what we have to do to protect Daniel.”
“I’m going to follow all the things you told me to follow. And the doctor’s visit you set up. I will, I promise.”
“And you know how to get to the courthouse?”
“The bus is expensive,” she said. “That’s why I missed it last time. I wanted to show up, but the bus is, like, a couple bucks each way, and they make me pay for the baby.”
“How about if I pick you up and drive you to the hearing?” I said. “Would that work?”
“Okay. Yeah.”
“I’ll pick you up at your apartment, you and Daniel and Randy.”
Her head snapped, her eyes widened. “What? No. Not Randy. He can’t make the hearing. He works.”
“Where?” I said.
“I don’t want to talk about him. What does he have to do with Daniel?”
“Doesn’t he live in your room above the bar?”
“Not really. Not no more. He left. He’s gone.”
“He’s out of your life?”
“Yeah, out of it. Good riddance, the creep. Just don’t bring him in it, okay?” There was a fear in her eyes that I didn’t like. “I’ll do whatever you tell me to do, but he don’t want to be involved in my mess.”
Isabel looked at me. I shrugged.
“Okay for now,” said Isabel. “Let’s see how you do before your next court hearing. If everything’s going well, we’ll create a new action plan then. Do you have anything else to add, Victor?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said. “What’s up with Daniel’s teeth?”
“How did you know she’d be there?” said Isabel as we made our way back to her car.
“I have my sources.”
“So you’re not just showing up.”
“What did I tell you?”
“That he’s your client. But I’m not sure what that means?”
“Why’d you become a social worker?”
“To help families in trouble. To make a difference, I suppose.”
“See, that’s where we diverge. I’m not out to save the whales, or save the planet, or save the children. Frankly, I don’t want to make a difference in the world, because I’d probably just screw it up. I’m only a lawyer trying to do his best for his clients. Daniel Rose is a client, four years old or not, and so he gets everything I’ve got. It’s that simple.”
“Even if the file was dumped on your desk and you’re not getting paid?”
“That’s the part that sucks.”
“I don’t know if I find you admirable or appalling.”
“When you figure it out, let me know. So what do you think about my client?”
“I think he’s a little kid living with a mother who doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing.”
“But do you think he’s in danger?”
“Of getting messed up by his mother? Sure, like every other kid in America.”
“I could tell you stories about my childhood that would leave you weeping,” I said.
“But I don’t see any reason to pull the mother and son apart. You do that, there are always scars, and good foster homes are scarce. But I want to keep an eye on her and the boy. It seems like a fragile situation. And you’re right, those teeth are a problem. We’ll have to get a dentist involved.”
“Which is always bad news,” I said. “And the boyfriend still troubles me.”
“Julia said they broke up.”
“Yes, she did, and she was so truthful about everything else there’s no reason to believe she wouldn’t be truthful about her boyfriend.”
“Did Daniel say anything about him?”
“He seemed like he was too scared to talk.”
“You’re going to have to learn more about him,” she said.
“How?”
“He’s your client,” she said. “You figure it out.”
Figure it out indeed. I thought about the boy, the mother, the boyfriend, Randy, thought how I could find what I needed to find out, when Isabel let out a gruff “Hrumph.”
“Excuse me?” I said.
“That’s all right, Victor. I’ve heard a belch before.”
“I didn’t belch. You said something.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
I stopped, looked around, saw the front brim of a black porkpie hat peeking over the railing of a porch.
“Why don’t you go on ahead,” I said to Isabel. “I need to make a call.”
When she was far enough down the block, I took out my phone, wandered over to the edge of the porch, leaned against the brick, pretended to make a call.
“Was that you clearing your throat,” I said into the dead phone, “or was someone plunging a stopped-up toilet?”
“Watch your mouth afore I smack it closed,” said Horace T. Grant from behind me. “Although it sounds like someone else done that already. I see you found the place. How was your visit?”
“Fine.”
“Twenty minutes is all you give it and you come out saying, ‘Fine.’ You on a tight schedule, boy? Got you a pedicure appointment you don’t want to miss?”
“We were there for an hour,” I said calmly. “We set up parenting sessions and a doctor’s appointment, and I’m going to personally drive Julia and Daniel to the next court hearing. Does that meet with your approval?”
“It’s not up to me to approve, which is about the only reason you still breathing, other than a nose that could fit on Mount Rushmore.”
“Why, thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“She knows we’re all looking over her shoulder,” I said. “That should help things from here on in. Though there might be something else of concern. What do you know about the boyfriend? His name is Randy.”
“I know his name, fool. Which is more than I want to know.”
“That bad.”
“Like a bunion on the foot on the face of the world.”
“I get the idea. They’re still together, Randy and Julia?”
“Like shit and Shinola.”
“What does that mean, actually, not knowing shit from Shinola?”
“It means you’re a lawyer.”
“Horace, your wit is surpassed only by your pleasant manner. You know where this Randy works?”
“What am I, the Yellow Pages? You were inside for a so-called hour, why didn’t you ask that woman?”
“She wasn’t so willing to discuss her boyfriend.”
“Then maybe I’m not so willing neither. You mention my name in there?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.”
“Okay, I understand.”
“What do you understand? You understand less than a bloodworm on a hook, wiggling yourself free even as the largemouth bass comes looking for dinner. You understand? A thumb in my eye, you understand. I bet you didn’t even find out nothing about the daughter.”
“The daughter?”
“There you go, see? You’re like a jalopy without an engine, ugly and rusting on the outside, empty on the inside. What good are you?”
“Julia has a daughter?”
“You so lost, how you fall out of bed and don’t hit the ceiling is beyond me.”
“Where is she?”
“Now you’re getting to the root of it, boy. Now you starting to ask some questions.”
“You don’t know where she is?”
“You stupid sumbitch. If I knew where the hell she was, would I be dealing with the likes of you?”
“No, sir,” I said. “I don’t think you would.”
“First sensible thing you said all day. Now, get on going, there’s work to be done.”
I pushed myself from off the porch railing, started walking toward Isabel without looking back. He was such a pleasure to deal with, Horace T. Grant, and unfortunately, from what I could tell, he was almost always right, which meant there was more work to be done. So Julia Rose had a daughter somewhere, my client Daniel had a sister somewhere, and no one knew enough to even search for her. Which meant that I might have to.
If I had a dog, I would have kicked it just then. I was falling deeper into something that I didn’t understand, that I wasn’t qualified to handle, and that wasn’t going to pay me a cent.
Pro bono blows.
This is how I ended up flat on my back, mewing in agony, reaching for the white light in the distance.
We had gotten François his new trial, now it was time to devise some devious way to win it. The best route, I figured, was to ride François’s Gallic charm as if it were a surfboard on a six-foot swell. But to do that he’d have to testify, so it was time for him to finally answer our questions. It was hot in the prison interview room, Beth was quiet, I was sweating, and all the time François was answering, his eyes were saying,
How can you doubt me, Victor?
How could I? Because his tongue was moving. But it wasn’t the lying so much that got to me, I’m used to clients lying—what would I ever do with a client who told me the truth?—more it was the insouciance with which he told his lies, as if he was so charming he didn’t have to try too hard. It was all enough to send me sucking on my scab.
“Tell us where you met your wife,” I said.
“There is a place called Marrakech owned by Geoffrey Sunshine.”
“The guy whose name is always in the papers?”
“That is him, yes,” said François. “The second floor of the building was a club. It was fun, this club, a spectacle. There was a restaurant, too, and Geoffrey was a friend of sorts. He was always trying to get me to cook for his restaurant, which was why I was often there. He would invite me to the club, introduce me to the girls. Quite nice. One of the girls he introduced me to was Leesa. She had a bit of a reputation, but there was something in her that I admired. A spark of freedom, I think, and a sweetness. At first it was just, you know, playing around. But after a while it became something else, if you understand.”
“Why did you marry her?”
“Why else? I loved her.”
“So what happened to the marriage?”
“It is hard to say.”
“Try.”
“Things change with a child. Amber was a beautiful baby, yes, but things changed. It was a difficult delivery, and Leesa was in quite a bit of pain for a long time afterward. The baby was crying, shrieking, always seemed hungry, and Leesa was depressed. The doctor said it was a normal thing, the depression, but that did not make it easier. And I had my new restaurant. I was obsessed with starting it right and so could not be around as much as maybe I should have been. With Leesa’s pain and the depression getting worse, the doctor finally prescribed some medicine.”
“What medication?” I said.
“Something about an ox, I do not know. It fixed the pain, yes, but it had a bad effect on Leesa. She became moody, manic, or depressed, depending on the hour. She did not seem to bond with the baby. And we began to fight. She said she felt smothered, chained, and abandoned all at once. And it was not only her, I was feeling a little trapped, too. After a while we were like strangers. And then she accused me of cheating.”
“Did you?”
“Is that important?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe then I did, yes. Nothing extraordinary.”
“With whom?”
“None of your business.”
“Believe me when we tell you this, François, everything in your life has become our business. Whom?”
“There was a customer. There was a girl on a bicycle. What do you want, Victor? I’m French.”
“I’ll need names,” I said.
“Who can remember? Katherine? Lorraine? Yes, Lorraine.” A smile followed by a dismissive wave. “And then there was someone from work. Darcy. Darcy DeAngelo. That was maybe a bit more serious. But it was not the affairs that caused the end of us. They were just…affairs.”
“What was it, then?”
“We were both unhappy. That was it. We began to make each other miserable. Therefore, I left. I thought that was best, but Leesa evidently disagreed.”
“The divorce proceeding wasn’t amicable, I presume.”
He gave a French snort of derision. “I wanted it to be. I was worried about Leesa and concerned about Amber, but Leesa decided nothing would be easy. She went crazy with revenge, she showed no concern for Amber. It was the drug still, I thought. I tried to get her off the pills, but the only way to talk to her now was through the judge. So that is what I did. For some reason, me bringing the drugs into the court case only made the situation worse.”
“Funny how that works,” I said. “Where were you the night of the murder?”
“In my apartment. I had worked lunch and then the dinner shift also. We had a drink or two after closing, but I was too tired to stay long. I was exhausted. I still had my chef’s coat on as I walked home. I collapsed into the bed. I was asleep when the police woke me up with the news. I let them search my apartment. I had nothing to hide. That is when they found the gun and the blood.”
“How did it get there?”
“I do not know. I still do not know. It was the fat detective that found it.”
“Torricelli?”
“Yes. Maybe he brought it over in his briefcase to frame me. It is always the husband, right? He wanted to be sure.”
“I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“He did not seem to me, that detective, to be so bright.”
“Bright enough to put you in here. Did he arrest you right then?”
“Yes, of course. That very morning. I have not been out of jail since. I would have had another drink that night if I had known.”
“What happened to all the stuff in the apartment?”
“I stopped paying the rent when I was in jail. I do not know where everything is. My clothes, my books and pans. Who knows? Who cares? I have not lately had much use for a copper salmon poacher.”
I had been pacing back and forth, sucking on my wound, as I asked my questions. Now I sat down right across from him, looked at him carefully as I said, “Why is Velma Takahashi paying for your defense?”
“I do not know.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“But you must, Victor. I do not know. Truly. She came to visit me. I knew her, she was a friend of Leesa’s from her days at Marrakech, and we maybe played a bit, if you understand, but we were never really friends. In fact, I always thought she resented me.”
“Why?”
“I broke up the team. They were quite the team, and a team after our separation, too, if you listened to the rumors. So I was surprised that she came to visit. She said she only wanted to see how I was getting along. I lied to her and said I was fine. But I was not fine. Who is fine in this place? And I think she could see that. And somehow it affected her, I do not know. She looked at me, I had a bruise on my face from something that happened in the shower, and I could see tears in her eyes. Like somehow the bruise, it was her fault. And then she told me she would help me any way she could, that she would pay for a new lawyer if I needed.”
“How did you light on us?”
“I saw your name in the paper, Victor. I asked around. When I thought you were the one, I decided to write. I have done some fishing in my life. You catch nothing with an empty hook. From what I heard about you, I knew what I needed to get your interest. I called Velma and asked for a check.”
“As bait?”
“Yes, of course. Dangling on a hook. And here I am with another chance at life.” He grinned, like a cat with a fish tail sticking out of its teeth. “And it worked, did it not?”
“I guess it did.”
“Anything else?”
I thought a bit. “There is one thing more that has been bothering me. Why do you chef guys always undercook my steak?”
“You must be careful with the meat,” said François. “There is a point where the taste and texture are perfect. You go beyond that point, the muscle it clenches and everything is ruined. It is like eating leather.”
“But what if I like it well done?”
“Then you, Victor, are a barbarian.”
At least he wasn’t lying about that.
“He’ll make an awesome witness,” said Beth after they had taken François Dubé back to his cell. We were still in the room, both of us standing now, waiting for someone to lead us out.
“Sure he will,” I said.
“The jury will eat him up like a crème brûlée.”
“Maybe, if they go for that French thing. Personally, I find it annoying, like a cat in the corner coughing up hair balls and meowing orders.”
“A cat?”
“Don’t the French remind you of cats? Insufferably superior, willfully independent. And they lick themselves clean after they eat.”
“Stop it.”
“No, I’ve seen it, really.”
“He’ll do great,” said Beth. “If he’s telling the truth.”
“The big if.”
“He admitted the affairs,” she said.
“With a great amount of pride, I might add.”
“And if he had really used the gun, why would he bring it back to his apartment, and why would he consent to the search?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe he is telling the truth. What do you think, Victor?”
I felt the scab in my mouth with my tongue. I had worried it so hard during the interview the edges had come loose. I had been playing with my scab because the whole interview had made me itch all over. Every answer only raised more questions. Like his alibi on the night of the murder, which was no alibi at all. Like his story about how he met his wife, and his relationship with Velma Takahashi, both of which seemed to contradict what Mrs. Cullen had told me outside the courtroom. And his side of the separation seemed a little too pat, didn’t it? But then again the strange sadness he had seen in Velma’s eyes matched what I had seen there, too.
“He’s lying,” I said. “He’s hiding something, I just don’t know what.”
“Always the skeptic.”
“Come on, Beth. You’ve heard it enough from me. What’s the first precept of the legal profession?”
“Clients lie.”
“Very good. There are some things I’m going to want to check out.”
“Like what?”
“Like the records of the divorce proceeding. And I’ll need to visit that club he talked about, Marrakech.”
“You think you might find something there?”
“No,” I said, “but it sounded like a pretty good place to pick up women.”
Beth laughed as I fiddled with the scab.
“But first,” I said, “what we need to do is to talk to Mia Dalton about…arrgh.”
“Victor? What is it, Victor?”
I gagged on something and searched around futilely for a tissue. In desperation, I spit whatever had come loose into my hand. I couldn’t help but give it a look.
An uneven circle of blotchy scab, about the size of a tooth.
“Victor, are you okay?”
I gagged again before gaining enough control to say, “I think so.” I took a deep breath and a pure, scorching pain buckled my knees.
“Victor,” said Beth, rushing over to me. “What is it?”
I grabbed hold of her arm and felt the blood rush from my head as a great white wooziness overtook me.
Next thing I knew, there was music, lush and ethereal, and a white light lay an arm’s length before me, like a vision of another and better world.
And strangest of all, it shone into my mouth.