William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

“Take that,” Charlie cried, smacking the man on his all-too-exposed posterior. It was hairy and rippled with cellulite and almost as protuberant as the sagging gut on the other end. He tried to keep his eyes on the furniture. “And that!”

“Harder,” the congressman gasped. “I’ve been very bad.”

Turned out, Charlie swung a pretty mean ruler. He’d brought his own. He’d brought a dog collar, too, but it was beginning to appear that he wasn’t going to need it.

Charlie continued swinging, making a satisfying smack as the wood hit the flesh.

“Harder,” the man grunted, between squeals. “I need-”

“Shut up, bitch,” Charlie said, and thwacked him so hard the blow almost knocked him into the chair.

“Oh yes. Yeeeesssss.”

Shouldn’t be too much longer now, Charlie observed. Good. Then he could get out of here, get back to his apartment where he couldn’t be spotted by his roving stalker. Besides, he was really getting into the swing of this, and he was afraid if he did it much longer, he might start to like it.

“Repeat after me,” Charlie commanded. “I am a fat ugly little girl.”

He whimpered. “I am a fat ugly-”

“Shut up, bitch!” He thwacked him again, and this time, just for good measure, grabbed the congressman’s arm and thwacked the back of his hand. Tweedy trembled with pleasure.

“Now listen up, you sorry excuse. Do you think you can learn how to behave like a proper little lady?”

“Y-yesss.”

“Yes, sir, bitch!”

“Yes, sir!”

“I’m not convinced,” Charlie bellowed, thwacking all the way. “I think I’m going to have to keep on beating you. Harder and harder. Over and over. Until you just can’t take it anymore.”

“Oh, noooo,” the congressman said, meaning oh yessssss…

Tweedy was breathing hard and fast now, gasping for each breath, sweating like the pig he was. Charlie knew the man was close; all he needed was a finishing stroke, something creative and effective and…

“On the floor, bitch!” He pushed the congressman down, then put his boot on the side of the man’s face and crushed it into the carpet. And thwacked him some more.

“Oh yessssss!… Yes, yes, yes, yes, yessss!” Groaning, the congressman rolled over on his side. “Oh, thank you, sir. That was-”

“For me, too,” Charlie said, grabbing the cash on the coffee table. “Parting is such sweet sorrow. Let’s not make a scene, okay?” He stopped at the door. “Oh, and Congressman? Good luck in the November election.” He gave a little salute. “You certainly have my vote.”

Everyone should have a place where they can go to get away, Ben mused, as he sat down with his Trollope novel and a cup of hot tea and stared at the specials board at Novel Idea. It was a great place to have lunch, and since it was, technically, a bookstore, when you were finished, you could look at the new releases. Of course, Ben rarely read anything written after 1901, but still. The best of it was, he came often and regularly enough that people knew and recognized him. There was even a sandwich named after him on the menu. It was like Cheers for Ben-the place where everybody knows your name.

Even on his busiest days, he tried to slice away a half hour to relax, nourish his body with tortilla soup, and nourish his brain with nineteenth-century lit. It was a chance to refresh and recharge.

Usually.

“Ben, we’ve got to talk.”

Somehow, here in his sanctum sanctorum, Christina was sitting at his table. And she’d closed his book. And she’d taken his tea.

“Christina, I’ll be back in the office in-”

“And you’ll shut your door and blow me off. And I have a flight for Chicago leaving in ninety minutes and I can’t mess around with you anymore.”

He grabbed for his book, but she pulled it away. “And what makes you think I’ll listen to you here?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll create a big scene. And I know how you hate scenes. Especially here, where everybody knows your name.”

Scott, the owner, stopped by. “Can I get you anything else, Ben?”

“Yes. A new table. With one chair.”

He grinned. “You two. What kidders. French onion soup, Christina?”

“Yes, that would be lovely.” Scott returned to the kitchen. “Looks like I’m here to stay, Ben.”

He folded his hands. “You know, Christina, you’ve done some bad things before, but this is truly evil.”

“I know. I feel horrible about it. But we have to talk.”

“If it’s about the Christensen case-”

“You know it’s about the Christensen case. Specifically, it’s about Ellen Christensen.”

Ben’s movements slowed. “What about her?”

Christina leaned across the small round table. “I know, Ben.”

“You know what?”

She looked him right in the eyes. “I know.”

Dee, the manager, passed by their table. “Saw you on TV the other night, Christina. Loved your hair.”

“Thanks.”

“Smart move, Ben. I’d let her do all the press conferences from now on.”

Ben grabbed his tea and pulled it back to his side of the table. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“I’m serious,” Christina said, once they were alone again. “I know all about it.”

“You couldn’t possibly-”

“I’ve talked to your mother.”

Ben was floored. “What! How dare you-”

“I knew she’d shoot straight with me, and she did.”

“She couldn’t know everything that-”

“She knows more than you realize. She had a private investigator look into it, after you came back from Toronto acting like an escapee from the lunatic ward.”

“She didn’t!”

“She did. I’m sure he didn’t learn everything, but believe me, he learned enough.”

“She had no right.”

Christina reached out instinctively and took his hand. “Ben, I’m so sorry that had to happen to you. I guess I’ve always known there must’ve been something, something in your past, but I never dreamed…”

He pulled his hand away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“And I don’t blame you. I mean, my ex-husband left me, but it was nothing like-”

“I don’t want to talk about it!”

She held up her hands. “I just wanted you to know-that I know.” She drew in her breath. “And I understand. But I still need your help.”

He shook his head. “Christina, please don’t ask me to-”

“Frankly, Ben, I’m not asking you anything. I have two things to tell you.”

“Oh?”

“First, I’ve hired an intern.”

“What?” he said, doing his best to appear shocked. “What did you think you were doing? We can’t afford that!”

“We’ll manage somehow. Don’t worry-Vicki is smart. You’re going to love her.”

“What’s the second message? You’re moving our office to Park Avenue?”

“No. You’re joining the Christensen defense.”

“The hell I am.”

“That’s right. The hell you are.”

“So you think that just because you’ve talked to my mother, I’m going to relent and take over your case?”

“I don’t want you to take over.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to help. But it’s my case. You can second-chair.”

“Me? Second-chair?”

“I’ve done the pretrial work and it is my case.”

“Second-chair?”

“I know you have more experience in the courtroom, but frankly, Ben, I’m much smarter.”

“Is that so?”

“I just need help, and I’m bright enough to get it when I need it. So you’re going to join the team.”

“Christina, I will not have anything to do with that woman.”

“You don’t have to. She’s not the client. Her son is.”