James Conway - In Cold Blonde

Adam muted the TV. “Unbelievable,” he said.

Alice enjoyed watching Adam’s reaction. He was shocked for sure; if he only knew. “Was he a client?” she asked.

“No, no, we went to high school together. He was a really great guy.”

“Were you friends?”

“Oh, yeah. We had some good times. Crazy times.”

“Tell me.”

Adam shook his head. “Just stupid high school stuff.”

Alice wanted to probe further, but sensed that now wasn’t the time. “Did you stay in touch?”

“No, we drifted apart when we went to college. I’ve seen him in a few movies, since then, always meant to call him, say hello, congratulate him, but never did.” He shook his head. “Murdered, wow.”

“Guess you’ve got to be careful who you pick up in bars these days.”

“Tell me about it.” Then he turned back to Alice. “Good thing I met you in a parking lot.”

She smiled. “Much safer.” And then she kissed him.

Musso and Frank Grill was the oldest restaurant in Hollywood, and felt like it. It’s got wood-paneled walls, red leather booths and the same menu as when it opened in 1919. Want Turkey a la King, liver with onions, broiled squab with bacon, lamb kidney sauté; this is your place. But old-fashioned is the charm of the place. And they’ve got a great bar.

Anne sat at far end of the bar nursing a vodka tonic. She was surprised how nervous she was. Anne was never nervous. Not in a boardroom or courtroom. But she could feel an anxiety buzz, and she didn’t like it.

Of course, her life was in turmoil, her marriage over, her job gone. Rick’s father may bail them out but Anne was sure rumors would leak about her and Rick forging his father’s signature and her reputation was sure to take a big time hit. What a fucking mess.

“Hey, Beautiful.”

Anne turned to find Ryan behind her. “Hey, Handsome.”

That’s how they used to greet each other when they first started dating, those intoxicating wonderful days of young love.

“Sit, please,” she said. “What’re you drinking?”

“I’ll have a beer.”

Anne caught the eye of the bartender. “Michelob draft for him,” she said, and then looked at Ryan. “That all right?”

“I’m surprised you remember.”

It was easy for Anne to remember, Rick drank the same thing. But she smiled shyly and ordered another vodka tonic for herself.

“Amazing,” Ryan said. “I haven’t seen you in seven years and now twice in one day.”

“You complaining?” she teased.

“No, not at all.”

The bartender delivered the drinks. No reason to beat around the bush, Anne thought. “A toast,” she said, holding up her glass, “in honor of your Lotto winnings. To wealth, wisdom and happiness.”

“One down, two to go,” Ryan said. They both laughed and drank.

Anne had to be careful here. She wanted to seem helpful without being predatory; friendly and just a hint flirtatious. But she couldn’t seem opportunistic. She had to play this just right.

“You know our firm has represented a number of Lotto winners over the years.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Believe it or not, winning the lottery is a dangerous proposition. Sometimes winning the lottery is the un luckiest thing in the world. One third of all Lotto winners are bankrupt in five years. One client won eleven million dollars, ignored our advice and plowed it all into slot machines and crap tables. He now lives in a trailer park. The brother of another client hired hit men to kill him so he would get the inheritance.”

“Jesus.”

“There’s story after story. Another guy won fifteen million, so bought a house for his mom, cars for all his relatives, gave hundreds of thousands to his church, tens of thousands to his friends, sent money to people who wrote him sob stores; he ended up spending it all. Died of a heart attack and there wasn’t enough left to pay for the burial. And I read about this woman who won twenty million, went out to celebrate and was killed driving home.”

“Okay, that’s it, I’m ripping the damn thing up.”

“No! There are also plenty of stories about people whose lives have been blessed by the money. All I’m saying is, you have to be careful. Get a team around you: lawyer, CPA, people you can trust.” As soon as she said the word trust, Anne regretted it. How would he ever trust the woman who betrayed and dumped him? “People who know and care about you,” she added.

Even in college Ryan knew Anne was going to be a great lawyer. She was articulate and convincing. And smart. Hearing all the potential downsides of winning the lottery made him very glad he’d agreed to meet her.

And she was so damn beautiful. When they were together, he used to spend hours staring at her face; when she talked, while she read, as she slept. He used to tell her that her face massaged his eyes. And looking at her now he realized that nothing had changed.

“I do need some advice,” he said. “You see, my winning the Lotto is a little more complicated than normal.”

“Complicated how?”

Ryan took a sip of his beer and told her about the tow truck driver and finding the ticket on the ground. “And I know enough law,” he said finishing, “to know that the ticket is not legally mine.”

Anne listened to the story with an increasing sense of doom. She knew Ryan well enough to know that he would probably want to do the right thing. Turn the ticket in and let the Lotto officials try and find the tow truck driver.

But it’s hard for anyone, even Ryan, to turn down tens of millions of dollars that no one could prove wasn’t his. And she needed him to claim that money. A rich Ryan would solve so many of her problems.

Then she had an idea, a brainstorm really, something that Ryan would probably find irresistible. So she went to work. “Okay, we’ve got a real conundrum here, don’t we?”

“Yes and no. I mean, it’s simple, really, isn’t it? The ticket is not mine. I have to turn it in.”

“Do you know what will happen if you turn it in?”

“Not really. I’m mean, I guess they’ll try and find the tow truck driver.”

“You’re a detective. Any chance they’ll find him?”

“I didn’t pay that much attention to his face. I’m sure there was a company name on the tow truck but I don’t remember it and I didn’t even glance at the license plate. So no, I could never identify him.”

“And since it was a quick pick, no one could prove these were numbers he played every week. And since it was six months ago, the 7-Eleven won’t have a video tape.”

“Right. So if they can’t find the real owner, what happens to the money?”

“It goes back into the State general budget fund. Meaning no one gets it.”

Ryan slumped; that’s what he was afraid of. “What a waste,” he said.

Okay, Anne thought. Got to go careful here. “Ryan, who else knows the truth about the lottery ticket?”

Ryan looked at her. He knew where she was going. She was going to try and find a way to justify keeping it. And so was he. That’s the real reason he was here, wasn’t it?

“Just my partner.”

“Can you trust him?”

“Her. And yes, totally.”

She didn’t like that answer; too quick, too definitive. There was only one reason he could be so sure, he was probably involved with her. Anne wanted to probe further, but there would be time for that later.

“What does she think you should so do with the ticket?”

“She hasn’t told me. She says it’s my decision.”

Good, Anne thought. Smart girl. “Then let’s look at a couple of options. I know you used to look at life in absolutes, Ryan, your John Wayne syndrome; right is right, wrong is wrong, life is black and white, period. Has nine years in law enforcement dulled your integrity?”