Jonathan Kellerman - Breakdown

“They being...”

“Old people. As a group, I’ve got no problem with them. I respected Dr. Korovnick. I respected and loved my nana, she was awesome. I’m just saying... you want me to go into it? Maybe it’d help with a lawsuit?”

Milo said, “We kinda need to know what you’re referring to.”

“Okay. Here’s the deal. Last week, I got a call from downstairs to pick up a whole bunch of papers Loach had requested, Xerox and collate and staple and bring them back. Tons of paper, boring stuff — real estate laws, I think. As usual, he wasn’t in the office, I’d been doing my typical sit around and wait. So why would I assume? It took a while, the first copy machine had a jam, but I finally finished and brought the stuff back up and knocked on his office door and went in. Expecting no one, a formality, you know?”

Her smile was sudden, sly. “Unfortunately... oh, man, that was some scene.”

“Loach was there...”

“Him and a woman,” said Britnee Fauve. “An old woman, maybe even older than him. And they — you really want to hear this? Hey, why not?” She licked her lips. “What I see when I go in is him standing in front of his desk and she’s down on her knees in front of him. His face turns red and he makes this little squawky noise and she gets up real quick. I dropped the papers on the floor and bailed.”

Milo said, “Caught in the act. Talk about awkward.”

“It’s crazy, right? You’re in the mood for some head, why wouldn’t you lock the door? Sean — my boyfriend — says that’s contributory negligence, I have a solid case.”

I said, “Loach sure put you in a tough situation.”

“It’s always that way, right? You catch someone at something and they end up blaming you because they feel crappy about it. That’s how it was with my boyfriend before Sean.” She pondered. “Sean’s different.”

Milo said, “Catching someone being naughty and getting blamed for it. Kinda sounds like police work, Britnee.”

“Yeah, I guess so... I was grossed out and went to Starbucks and didn’t come back the rest of the day. They’re probably using that against me. Can you blame me for not wanting to be around when he finally came out of the office? Hi, boss, enjoy getting your knob polished by some GILF in Chanel? I mean, yuck, gross.”

“Had you seen the woman before?”

“Once or twice, she’d show up, they’d go out. So she’s probably his girlfriend or whatever. But don’t blame me if you’re not careful. Asshole. ”

Milo said, “Can you describe the woman?”

“Old, white hair — why, is she some kind of suspect?”

“Just collecting background on Mr. Loach.”

“I meant to ask you about that,” she said. “What exactly’s going on with him? Please please tell me he’s in serious trouble, some sleazy lawyer thing.”

Milo smiled. “I wish we could get into that, Britnee. But too early in the game.”

She smiled back. Perfect teeth. “At least there’s a game. Okay, great. But can you promise me one thing? If whatever he did helps me with my lawsuit, you’ll let me know?”

“Absolutely.”

“Thanks, guys,” she said. “I mean, if he’s an ax murderer or something, that would help, right?” She laughed. “Sean says I could sue him, the firm, maybe even the agency that got me the job. Luck out, I can score some serious F-U money, finally get a vacation.”

I said, “Haven’t had one in a while?”

“Like in never. School and work and nothing else since my sophomore year in high school, which is when my dad died.”

Milo said, “You really do deserve a break, Britnee. Good luck — can you describe the woman a bit more?”

“Old,” she reiterated. “Tall, skinny. Not a bad figure, I guess. Not bad, she might’ve been cute a long time ago. Rich-looking. That Chanel was real. So were her Louboutins, when she was going down on him I saw those red soles. I’d say she could be his wife but he’s not married. Which he told me after I’d been there for a week. After shamelessly letch-leering my butt.”

She ran a hand down one smooth flank. Flipped her hair.

I said, “Rich older lady.”

“What else... I said white hair but it was really white-blond, probably cost a fortune... oh, yeah, GILF lipstick, coral red.” She grinned. “All smeared up on the side of her face. She did move fast, kind of graceful, I’ll give her that. Like maybe she danced when she was younger? Or she takes yoga, whatever.”

Milo showed her Enid DePauw’s DMV photo, careful to cover the name with his hand.

“Oh, wow. Yup, that’s her. She doesn’t look so great here.” Shaking her head. “Itchy lips, lock the door, bitch. Guess I’m lucky to get out of there, it was only a matter of time before he’d be trying to get me to do it.”

She ate another piece of shrimp. “Tell you one thing: I feel sorry for the next person they exploit.”

I said, “There’s a temp working there now. Not too bright.”

“Figures. Not that the job involves brainwork. Taking messages from his Audi mechanic? His tailor? Sean says that’s what senior partners do. Loaf around and exploit everyone below them. He calls it modern-day feudalism. Says the rest of us are the new serfs. Maybe I’m lucky. Maybe working for Loach is bad karma. The assistant before me had it a whole lot worse.”

“Who’s that?”

“I don’t know her name,” said Britnee Fauve. “Don’t even know if it was even a her or a him. But soon after I started working there, some dude downstairs in the mailroom made the crack about a voodoo hex up in Suite 1100. Like ‘Good luck, hope you do better than the last one.’ I said what are you talking about and he told me. Pretty tasteless, joking about it.”

We waited.

Britnee said, “Death isn’t funny. I was fifteen when my dad died.”

Milo said, “Loach’s previous assistant died?”

“That’s what the dude said. I didn’t ask anyone to confirm it, there was no one to talk to anyway, I was basically in solitary confinement up there. And when I came downstairs I couldn’t wait to get out of there because of all the chemical smells — toners and whatnot.”

“Do you remember the dude’s name?”

“Antoine,” she said. “He’s black, some kind of French-like accent. Maybe he was just messing with my head. But if he wasn’t, you think it could be important? For my lawsuit?” She ate another piece of shrimp, said, “This is delicious, going to bring Sean here. Thanks, I mean it.”

Milo said, “Our pleasure. Take the rest to go. And get some dessert — get two, for you and Sean.”

“That is really sweet, sir, but I’m really not much of a dessert person.”

“Given what you’ve been through, maybe you should be. Go ahead, on us.”

“Naw — you really think so?”

“We know so, Britnee.”

“Well... I do try to stay away from white sugar. But maybe they use something else.”

Milo called for a menu. She scanned. “Coconut custard... I do like coconut... custard’s eggs, that’s protein — okay, custard. Thanks.”

“How about Sean?”

“I’m not sure if he’d eat anything, he’s like Mr. Workout... hmm... okay, mango and coconut rice. He loves mango. Puts them in the blender for smoothies.”

Milo put in the order, asked the waiter to pack it up along with her barely touched lunch, and handed over cash.

The waiter smiled. Britnee Fauve smiled.

Milo and I worked at keeping our faces neutral.

When the take-out bag arrived, she stood up and briefly touched Milo’s shoulder. “Bye. You really know how to take care of people.”

Her breath caught. “My dad was like that.”