David Ellis - The Last Alibi

“I’ll get right on that.” I fish out some peanuts, but think better of it.

“And just for my own curiosity,” says Joel, “why did you bail on that trial with her? That’s a heater of a case she’s handling. I thought you lived for that shit. The high stakes and conflict. That’s right up your alley. Why didn’t you work on it?”

I throw some money on the table and scoot out of the booth. “This has been a real treat,” I say. “Let me know when you figure out who ‘James Drinker’ is or if you get any leads on the surveillance. And definitely send me a bill for your services.”

“What are you doing? Don’t leave. Let’s get a steak.”

“I have to get home to paint my toenails,” I say.

“Jason.” Joel steps out of the booth, blocking my exit. “Sit down.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No bullshit,” he says, raising a hand. “What the hell’s wrong with you? This whole new. . I mean, everything. You look like you haven’t slept in days and you’re, what, thirty pounds lighter. Your clothes are hanging on you. You don’t cut your hair or shave. You part ways with the best friend you’ve ever had and you act like you don’t even want to be a lawyer anymore. Seriously, man. What’s-Are you-are you sick?” He leans in for the last question, lowering his voice. “Is there something I can-”

“I’m sick,” I say. “I’m sick of helping criminals stay out of prison so they can hurt more people. I’m sick of people expecting everything from me and then being disappointed when I don’t fit into their vision of how I’m supposed to act. Just-just leave me alone, okay? I appreciate the concern, but I’m totally fine and I don’t need anything. Got it?”

Joel looks away, that whole disappointed thing I’ve managed to bring out in so many people, his tongue rolling around his cheek. “Got it,” he says simply.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, cowboy. You’re totally fine and you don’t need anybody. We’re clear.”

“Good.” I nod at him and walk out of the restaurant.

Shauna

Monday, July 8

“This is a case about incompetency and inefficiency in our city government,” I say, standing at my desk in my office at close to midnight. “This is a case about inefficient and incompetent bureaucrats who were given a job-to hire a construction company to renovate the civic auditorium-but who were totally unwilling and unable to properly prepare for the job. And when it turned out they hadn’t adequately prepared, hadn’t properly informed that construction company about all sorts of structural problems with the existing building and all sorts of problems below ground that affected the structure, it became a game of hear no evil, see no evil. It became anyone’s fault but theirs. It became my client’s fault, a father-and-son operation that’s done business for over thirty years with hardly a blemish on their record.”

I close my eyes and let that sink in. The recent problems the city’s had with the new garbage and waste-hauling contracts have grown more prominent by the day, soaking up the headlines in the Herald . Just today, in fact, Mayor Champion fired the head of Streets and San. So I’m hoping this theme finds a soft landing with my jury. If they live within the city limits, they’ll immediately think about this scandal. If they live in the near suburbs, they’re probably already inclined to think the worst of city employees.

I rub my eyes. I can’t do this anymore. I can hardly concentrate anyway. Why did I pick today to have it out with Jason? And why the hell didn’t he fight me when I told him to pack his stuff and get out? Why did he just accept it without a word? So now I’m alone at work, too? It’s not enough that I’m alone in my personal life, I have to be alone in the professional world, too?

I drop into my chair. I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired of cold beds and pretending that I love my independence. I’m tired of telling myself how proud I am that I haven’t settled for any of those nimrods who think I’m supposed to spread my legs for them because they went to Princeton undergrad or they wear hundred-dollar ties or once worked on the Hill. I’m tired of men who assume that they’re smarter than me because they were born with a penis and me with a vagina, and the moment they realize the scale is tipped the other way, they lose interest.

I’m tired of assuming I’ll have kids. I won’t. It’s time to see that, ma’am, because them are the facts. I’m thirty-five and a galaxy far, far away from a relationship with anyone even remotely-

The front door to our office pops open. Security checks in at night, but the security guy came through an hour ago. And they routinely announce themselves right away, so they won’t send a thrill of terror up the spine of someone working late at night, like me.

“Hello?” I shout.

Footsteps coming my way. I get out of my chair.

“Hey.” Jason stands in the doorway, looking haggard and disheveled, his collar open and his tie missing altogether.

The stranger danger adrenaline subsides, replaced with the Jason adrenaline, a seesaw of emotion.

He didn’t just pack his stuff and leave quietly. He came back.

“How’s your opening coming along?”

“How’s my opening coming along. . how’s my opening coming along.” I drop my head and make a noise. “Is that what you came here to ask me?”

“No.” He looks down the hallway toward his office, like he’s about to walk away. Since when have we been unable to communicate? When did that happen?

“Sometimes,” he says, still facing the hallway. “Sometimes I wonder if I still want to do this. Be a lawyer. I’m not totally sure I do anymore.”

“Okay,” I say gently, soothingly, but inside it’s like a dagger to my heart.

“But. . I do know one thing.” He turns to me. “As long as I practice law, I want to do it with you. I love you, girl.”

My eyes instantly well up. I come around the desk but stop short of him. “Okay,” I say, choking out the word. I’m not going to cry. I’m not. Maybe I am.

His expression softens. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I say.

His eyebrows curl in, serious-face. “About this other thing-”

“Shut up. I don’t want to talk about that now.”

He takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay. Well, so. .” He gestures to the hallway. “I should probably-”

“Stay,” I say.

“Oh. You want some company?”

“I want you.”

To stay. Finish the sentence. I want you to stay. Not just, I want you.

“You. . want me?”

“I want you,” I say again, and then my mouth is on his, my hand in his hair, and for an instant, for an insane, horrifying instant, I think that he’s going to draw back, reject me, and if he does we’ll never be the same, nothing will ever be the same, and then he kisses me hard and he lets out that moan, Jason’s moan, and then he yanks my blouse out of my skirt and runs his hands underneath, and then we’re tearing at our clothes and his rib cage is so prominent, skeletal, but he’s still Jason, big and strong Jason, with Jason’s soapy smell, Jason’s big hands, and we fall to the ground, right there in the threshold between my office and the hallway, and he rolls me over and my head bangs against the door and we both laugh and then he’s on top of me, running his hands everywhere, his tongue on my neck, then lower, then he’s pumping hard and moaning, and I close my eyes and grip the back of his hair and cry out into his ear-

“Wow,” he says, falling over me when it’s over, panting, his heart beating against my shoulder.