Perri O'Shaughnessy - Unfit to Practice

“There will be no deals,” he said. “There will be a sad death, your death, because, by God, I will not let you get away from me. If I can’t see you ruined I will see you dead. Suicide, out of disgrace. Too bad it’s such a crude solution.”

“Kevin Cruz won’t be a party to this! And what about Scholl?”

“Cruz? He’s in my pocket too deep to peep. And Scholl’s an idiot.” Riesner imitated Scholl’s deliberate voice. “‘Thing is, you stole the Bronco. That makes you my problem and I’m takin’ you in.’ All she could think about was your broken-down truck! I’ll find a way to keep her quiet and happy.”

“What’s this about? Why do you-hate me?”

His hand on her tightened. “Because your smelly perfume and your messy hair make me sick. Because you steal my clients. Because you despise me. But most of all because you are ruining me. They want to fire me.”

“They can’t! You’re a partner! Besides, you can always get another job!”

“They want to fire me and hire you to take my place.”

“What? No! But I would never take it!”

“Ever since you fucked me so completely in that casino case, ever since then, they’ve been riding me. I lost our biggest client that day. The casinos want me gone and you in. It’s been Reilly this and Reilly that. So brilliant. Such a star in the legal firmament.” The words sputtered out of him like spit. “I won’t be humiliated by a woman. By you.”

Nina struggled to say something soothing, something to save her life, but she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t do it. She hated him at this moment almost too much to try to save herself. He watched her try.

“It’s-just-business,” she managed finally, thickly.

“I am my business.”

Seeing they were coming to the end of the long hall, she stopped, turned, and faced him. “You don’t have to kill me. You’re good enough to get out of this.”

“For years now I’ve watched you,” Riesner said. “Clicking down the halls of the court. I detest the sound of your officious, vain little shoes.”

“Jeff-I saved your life once.”

“Your mistake.” His stony expression scared her more than anything. She had always been able to goad him before, always been able to arouse some kind of reaction. This time, the granite cold of his eyes told her everything. He meant to kill her.

He moved in closer and put a hand on her rear, pinching her buttock. “Get up there. Hmm. You’ll need a life-” He caught her around the waist with his free hand.

She jerked away from him. Knocking back against the balcony’s wall, she felt for her suit pocket.

He grabbed her, lifted her up to the shoulder-high railing while she struggled, and pushed. The balcony wall did not end with the usual narrow railing. Extending beyond it only a couple of inches below the edge of the balcony railing was a flat metal grid at least two feet wide, exactly like a ladder on its side, designed to prevent nasty accidents. Now, out of balance on that grid, fighting for her life, she rummaged in her pocket, turned toward Riesner, pulled out the pepper spray canister she had stuck in there on Paul’s reminder, and sprayed directly at his face.

Nothing came out. The canister was empty. She had forgotten to get a new one after using it on Riesner once before!

Unable to get her loose from his position on the floor, he threw a leg up and joined her on the grid.

“Paul!” she yelled. “Help!”

Trying to get her off-balance, Riesner hit her in the face.

Her eyesight blurred on his face. She leaned back, then smashed the canister straight into his eye as hard as she could.

His hands flew up and he tumbled on top of her. She wriggled away and by some miracle did not fall. Jumping off the metal grid, she threw herself back to the safe floor of the corridor.

The empty can dropped into the void beyond the railing. When she hit him, Riesner had slipped close to the edge, and as he squirmed around, his body suddenly went over. He managed to grab for, and catch, the edge. Both hands held on. His eye bled.

Without climbing back onto the grid, Nina could not reach him. She lifted a leg up over the balcony wall, heaved herself up, wedged her legs in the gaps between the bars, and grabbed for his wrist, trying to pull him back up. Impossible. He was too large, and she too small. Calling out for help, and seeing no one nearby, she strained to hold on, she sweated, she pulled, and all the while he shouted at her, terrified words of pleading, of fear, of wrath.

Way down in the restaurant below, faces turned up toward them, pulled invisibly by the gravity of the situation. Once the people saw the dangling man, they shouted and cried out, chairs creaking, footsteps running. Down the hall from them a door opened. A hefty man, one towel around his waist, another rubbing his sopping hair, looked out and then toward Nina.

Nina cried out.

The man dropped his hand towel and ran toward her, his bare feet slapping along the rug.

He was too far away! She could feel every tendon, muscle, and bone in her arms stretched to the breaking point; through her pain she could feel them snapping, separating, and through her fingers she felt the rapid-fire beating of Jeffrey Riesner’s heart in his wrist. She looked into his face, the open mouth saying things she could no longer hear, the eyes stained red. A moment passed between them.

He forgave nothing.

Suddenly from behind her, a hand thrust forward, grabbing for the wrist Nina was holding with both hands. Paul! His fully extended arm could barely reach to the edge of the safety grid. She let go and jumped off the grid and back to the floor as he climbed up over the wall toward Riesner, listening to his labored breathing as he lay down on the grid, pulling with one hand, both hands, and all his strength.

The barefoot man arrived behind Nina, wet hair dribbling down his neck, panting with fear. “What’s going on?” he asked, frantic. “Can I help?”

But he could not reach Riesner, who was dangling too far away, hanging by one arm now, held aloft by Paul and nothing else. Too busy straining the muscles in his arms, his mouth stretched into a grimace of effort, Paul said nothing.

Nina shook her head. “Stay back,” she told the barefoot man.

Slowly, methodically, rhythmic as a man bringing up a bucket from a well, hand over hand, Paul pulled him up. Riesner’s foot scrabbled against the rails. One time, two times, three times he lifted his slick leather shoe, trying to find a toehold. Suddenly, his foot stopped on the thin metal edge. Then, more scraping while a second foot looked for and found its place.

Paul helped him up. Suddenly, shockingly safe, Riesner looked through the safety grid into the vast open space of the atrium. A hush cloaked them all in woolen quiet, a hush filled with breathless anticipation as a hundred people watched what was happening above them. Riesner looked at the people below, their frightened faces, watching his shame.

Horrified onlookers.

He looked at Paul and Nina.

Paul broke the silence, his voice holding a fury Nina had never heard before. “I should have smacked you harder in that bathroom a couple years ago. Maybe it would have wised you up.”

“So it was you,” Riesner sputtered. A fleck of foam coagulated on the side of his mouth. He wiped blood out of his eyes. “You son of a bitch!”

Paul whispered to him, “You’re history, punk.”

Riesner moved suddenly, striking like a snake. In a last desperate motion, he grabbed Paul by the neck and tried to take him along into the abyss. He managed to get him over the ledge. They toppled onto the grid together, Riesner twisting Paul around so that he lost his balance. Paul’s foot slipped and he began to go over.