William Bernhardt - Primary Justice

The footsteps began again. They were heavy and drawing closer.

Christina held her breath. The door to the office opened. A light flickered on.

Ben and Christina did not move, or breathe, or think. They were completely hidden by the oak desk, or so Ben thought. If only whoever-it-is doesn’t look behind the desk.

An eternity passed in what was probably a few seconds. Ben’s entire life (past, present, and future) unreeled before his eyes—including his expulsion from the bar and a long prison sentence.

Then the light went off, and the squeaky office door closed. Christina looked at Ben, and together they quietly exhaled. The footsteps moved away at an intolerably slow pace. Finally, the stairwell door opened, and they heard the visitor walk away.

Christina started to stand up, then noticed Ben staring at the underside of the desk. “What is it?” she whispered.

Ben pointed to the bottom of the middle desk drawer, the one he had last opened before they dropped to the floor. A medium-sized manila envelope was taped to the bottom of the drawer.

“I can’t believe the police missed this,” Ben muttered.

“They probably weren’t crawling on their hands and knees when they searched the place,” Christina replied.

Ben reached up and removed the envelope.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Christina whispered. She stood up and tried the window behind the desk. “Locked,” she said. “But not hermetically sealed.” She flipped the latches on both sides of the window and pushed. The window opened.

“You can’t be serious,” Ben said.

“We don’t have any choice. With this mystery man creeping around, our previous plan is unworkable. Besides, we’re only on the second floor.”

Ben gazed out the window. There were few lights on the back side of the building, although there was a half moon. Where is the security guard? he wondered. He realized that he simply had no idea. He had lost all sense of the time scheme.

He looked down. The window was twelve, perhaps fifteen feet above the ground. She was right, though. They had no choice.

He pushed Christina aside. “Time for some macho posturing,” he said. “I’ll go first.” He put his feet through the window first, hung with his hands on the sill for a few moments, then dropped.

He landed off-balance on his left leg. The impact of the fall drove his knees into his chin. He fell onto his back. He blinked, then took a personal inventory. His teeth felt like mashed potatoes, but he was all right.

Christina followed close behind. She landed more gracefully, rolled on her heels, and softened the impact on her knees by rolling down onto the backs of her arms and shoulders.

“Nice job,” Ben whispered, standing over her.

“It’s the modeling training,” she murmured, taking her bearings. “Teaches bodily coordination and grace under fire.”

“You’re okay then?”

She nodded.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here.” He clasped her hand and helped her up. They started to run back around the side of the building toward the car.

Behind them, a dog barked.

“My God,” Ben said without breaking his stride. “We forgot about the dog!” They bolted toward the front of the building without looking back.

If they had looked back, they might have noticed a dark silhouette in the open window from which they, had jumped. Someone was watching them.

PART TWO

The True Embodiment

15

THERE WAS A LOUD, deliberate knock on the door.

The heavyset woman in the white uniform recognized his knock. She rose quickly and, after peering through the peephole, opened the door.

The man walked into the apartment and took off his jacket. “How is she today?”

The woman hesitated. “She’s … fine. Stable. Very good, under the circumstances.” She paused. “I know what I’m doing.”

The man smiled. “That’s why you get paid the big money.” He glanced down the hallway. “Get her.”

Nodding obediently, the woman walked halfway down the hall and called out.

After a few moments, there was a shuffling noise, and another woman, much thinner and younger, poked her head through the bedroom door. She had a vacant, distracted expression.

“Someone here to see you,” the nurse said quietly.

The younger woman looked down the hallway and saw the man standing in the main room of the apartment. A panicked expression spread across her face. She slammed the door shut.

The man frowned. “I’ll handle this,” he muttered. He pushed the woman in white out of the way and walked down the hallway.

“Open the door,” he said, quietly but firmly.

There was no response.

“I said, open the door,” he repeated, a little more loudly than before.

Still no response.

A sudden rage came over him. Gritting his teeth, he threw his full body, shoulder first, against the door. The door shuddered but did not open.

Even more enraged, the man began to kick the door. His pounding dented the outer wood surface.

He stopped, breathing heavily. His entire body was trembling. “All right, then,” he said, “see what you think about this.” He leaned close to the door and whispered a few brief words.

After a moment, the woman slowly opened the door. She was crying. Red blotches appeared on her face and neck just above her blue bathrobe.

“Please don’t hurt her,” she said. Her face was wet with tears.

“We’ll see,” the man said. With both hands he shoved the woman back against the bed.

He smiled. The rage had passed. He turned and looked back at the heavyset woman. “You’re dismissed.”

“But I haven’t prepared her for the evening yet.”

“I said you’re dismissed!” the man growled. He slammed the bedroom door shut.

16

“WHAT IS IT WITH you, anyway, Kincaid?”

Derek closed the door to his office and began his ritualistic pacing. Glad to see the ankle’s healed up, Ben thought.

“I asked you to try to get a kid adopted. A simple matter. The hearing is already set; you either win or lose. Except, for some reason, the next day you tell me you need a private detective to investigate the kid’s”—he hunched his shoulders together like a ghoul and rolled his eyes to the tops of their sockets—“myster-r-r-r-rious past.” He resumed his normal posture. “And now you want to hire an accountant , for God knows what reason. What is going on ?”

“Mr. Derek, I think these papers I discovered are very important.” Ben neglected to mention where he discovered them.

“Why? What can they tell us that’s relevant to an adoption hearing?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Derek. That’s just it. I’m not an accountant. I got C’s in algebra—”

“Stop.” Derek thrust the palm of his hand forward as if he was doing a bad imitation of the Supremes. “No more.”

He sat down behind the desk. “I will tell you this one more time, Kincaid, and only once more , if you catch my drift.” He leaned forward and stared meaningfully into Ben’s eyes. “This is not a pro bono case, but it’s damn close. This is not a money-maker, for us or our client. Our client does not want to spend a bundle of bucks on this. All he wants is to sleep nights with his guilt assuaged because he tried to do something nice for an old employee’s widow. And, frankly, if we’re unsuccessful”—Derek shrugged—“well, he did what he could.”

Ben stared back at the man. It was useless. Like arguing ethics with the Great Wall of China.

“Speaking of Sanguine,” Derek continued, “have you finished the brief for our preliminary injunction motion in the trade dress case?”