David Ellis - The Last Alibi

But Alexa isn’t in the office.

There are two people in the office, Jason and a younger guy. Jason is behind his desk but standing, stuffing cash into his pocket. The younger man is on the other side of the desk, slouching in a chair with his feet up, his back to me when I pop in but now turning. He gives me a quick nod of acknowledgment, cool and confident. It takes me a moment, but only a moment, before I recognize him. He is much better at this than Jason, much better at pretending that he isn’t doing what it looks like he’s doing. He’s had a lot more practice.

“Shauna,” says Jason, trying to act normal, still in recovery mode, a few bills sticking out of his pants pocket. “You don’t knock?”

I knocked. I just didn’t wait for an answer. If I hadn’t knocked, if I’d just walked right in without any advance warning, Jason wouldn’t have had the nanosecond of time to try to hide the transaction that was taking place.

“You remember Billy Braden,” he says, gesturing to his client while shoving the money deeper into his pocket.

Sure, I do. Richie Rich. The son of wealthy doctors, the Highland Woods boy who deals drugs for fun, because it’s cool to take a walk on the wild side, to play Candyman before Daddy gets him into Harvard and buys him his first condo.

“We were just discussing the appeal,” Jason says. “The state’s appealing the judge’s ruling.”

I look away, close my eyes, wishing I could close my ears, too.

“Hey, man, gotta scatter,” Billy says.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Cool. Nice seeing you,” Billy says, presumably to me, but I don’t look at him.

And then he’s gone. Then it’s just Jason and me.

“Boy, that guy’s a piece of work,” Jason says, still recovering. “I mean, I’ve had clients who wanted to pay in cash before, but you’d think a guy with-”

“Jason.”

“-his bank account-”

“Jason.”

He stops talking. The silence sucks all of the oxygen from the room.

“Don’t,” I say. “Please don’t lie to me. Tell me to fuck off. Tell me to get out of your office. But don’t lie to me. Not me .”

I keep my gaze on the window, not having mustered the courage for eye contact just yet. My chest is burning, my limbs filled with electricity, my pulse racing so hard that it’s difficult for me to stand still.

“It’s painkillers, isn’t it?” I say. “You got hooked while you were recuper-”

“It’s nothing,” he says. “I’m not on anything. I’m fine, Shauna.”

My eyes close again. “You’re not fine. You’re lying to me.”

“Shauna, I swear I’m fine.”

“I said don’t lie to me !” Now I look at him, snapping my head around. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Jason. Anything but that.”

Jason falls into his chair, shaking his head, a hand over his mouth. “I don’t know how to prove a negative, Shauna. I’m not addicted to anything.”

“Swear on Talia’s grave,” I say.

He makes a face, but his eyes still haven’t met mine. “What?”

“Look me in the eye, Jason Kolarich, and swear on Talia’s grave that you aren’t addicted to something.”

“Who. .?” Jason pops out of his chair. “Who the hell do you think you are, demanding something like that? Fuck you, Shauna. Fuck you.” He points at the door. “Now get out of my office.”

Now, finally, there is eye contact, now that he’s refused to address the issue.

“I’ll help you, Jason. I can help.”

“There’s nothing to help.” He points toward the hallway. “Now you were about to leave my office?”

I take a long breath. Something inside me breaks in half. I move toward the door but stop and turn before leaving.

“This isn’t your office, not anymore,” I hear myself say. “I want you and your drugs out of my law firm.”

Shauna

Monday, July 8

Six o’clock arrives before I’ve lifted my head. I’ve given my opening statement to the client and Bradley twice now. They’ve critiqued it, offered feedback, suggested a few tweaks, but overall people seem energized. Scared out of their minds, but energized, optimistic.

“You’re ready,” Bradley says to me. “You need some sleep. This is going to be a long fight. Don’t start it exhausted.”

“I’m going to get sleep,” I promise.

“No, you’re not. You’re going to be up half the night practicing your opening. I’m trying to talk you out of it.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” I say, looking down the hall at Jason’s office. I’ve blocked out our last exchange; the trial prep with the client has given me a cooling-off period. Did I really just kick him out of the firm? Did Tasker and Kolarich just become Tasker? It feels like a dream, something I remember but that didn’t actually happen.

Leave it alone, I tell myself as I start walking down the hall. Now’s not the time, I reason as I approach the door. Opening statements are fifteen hours away, I note.

I take a deep breath and walk in.

Jason isn’t there. But his girlfriend, Alexa, is.

She’s putting Jason’s football into a box, along with a few other items from his desk. The rest of the office is intact, and there’s just the one box. So he’s packing up a few items but not moving out entirely. Not yet.

“He asked me to grab some things,” she says.

I nod. I consider turning and leaving, but I stand my ground.

“Alexa,” I say, “I’m concerned about Jason.”

She braces herself. “Jason’s fine,” she says. Not What do you mean? What’s your concern? Immediately defensive. As if she expected the question and had an answer at the ready.

“He’s not fine,” I say. “I think we both know he’s not fine.”

“I don’t know what you-”

“Alexa, I just walked in on him buying drugs from a drug dealer. Right here, in this office. And if I know he’s doing it, then you must know, too.”

She raises her chin. “He’s in pain. He has chronic pain and a doctor who doesn’t believe him.”

“He doesn’t have chronic pain,” I say. “He hasn’t had pain in his knee for months. Do you see him hobbling around? Do you see him grimacing in pain?”

She sighs and shakes her head. “I don’t see those things because he’s taking medication. The point is to not grimace in pain. That’s why we have painkillers.”

“I think it’s time you opened your eyes,” I say.

She cocks her head. “And I think it’s time you minded your own business.”

And there it is. A turf battle. This isn’t about Jason at all, not for her. This is about possession, about yours and mine .

“Jason is my business,” I say, knowing that I’m playing her game, but playing it anyway.

Her face wrinkles up, mock confusion. “Really? How many times have you two spoken in the last month? Because I’m with him every day, and I have to tell you, your name hardly ever comes up.”

My hands ball into fists as I move toward her. The kettle at boil. This woman, this woman is poison.

“I’ve seen your act, sweetheart,” I say. “You like the ones who are broken, don’t you? You’ve got a tiny radar that goes beep-beep-beep when you spot one. You could see from a mile away that Jason was struggling. That’s why you were drawn to him, wasn’t it? That’s what you want. You want him broken so you can control him. I’ll bet you’re right there with a pill every time he needs one, aren’t you? Here you go, Jason. Take that pill. There, there, Jason. Am I getting warm?”

She crosses her arms and glares at me. “I’m with Jason because he’s a great guy. If you can’t see-”