“But you didn’t finish…” She gives me a questioning look, slowly standing.
“I said to go fix your face,” I snap.
“You look tense, let me finish you off. I promise you’ll feel better.” She strokes my zipper, but I remove her hand.
“Leave. Now.” She gives me a pouty face, but when I don’t budge, she scurries off.
I have to get myself together before facing Karen in court. I might be the most sought-after criminal defense attorney across the Mississippi Gulf Coast, but she knows what I do on the side and is always looking to revert some of my clients’ charges back to me.
She wouldn’t be caught dead dirtying her hands with the likes of criminals, but she does have a few coast guard agents in her pocket. They’ve been trying, unsuccessfully, for years to keep me from smuggling guns in and out of Mexico.
That insufferable cunt seems determined to make my life hell even though the majority of the police and judges are in my pocket and wouldn’t pursue me in court.
Last month, I let one of my young recruits handle a small weapons exchange in the gulf. There was a run-in with a passenger boat and the kid fired some weapons, alerting the nearby Coast Guard to their location. That led to Karen’s agents taking both boats down.
Why the other boat was taken down isn’t entirely clear.
Now I have to deal with the headache of covering his tracks so Karen doesn’t get the FBI involved. The kid doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve got a witness to link his involvement to one of the smaller crime organizations, taking any heat off me.
The best thing about being a criminal defense attorney with lots of pull with most of the local law enforcement officers is that I can use the occasional Whiskey Rivers junkie when I need a ‘witness’ to sway a story. Hand them a bag of their previously confiscated dope, and they’ll go along with whatever story you give them.
I like to think of it as my way of giving back to the community.
Some kind of conviction should pacify Karen enough to get her panties out of a wad for a while, even if it’s not me she’s burying under the jail. Her wet dreams consist of me slipping up and having enough evidence to build a case against me. Not likely that’ll happen.
The boy’s mother is locked up in my warehouse—my insurance policy for his cooperation. That’ll be enough for him to stick to the story I give him if he wants her to stay alive.
Fortunately for her, she has enough drugs in her system to not remember anything. Unfortunately for him, my insiders in the prison will beat him within an inch of his life when he gets there to ensure his story doesn’t change after we set her free.
A win-win for me. Forgiveness doesn’t earn fear and respect.
My court case went off without a hitch—as I knew it would. That poor sapsucker is on his way to prison where he will learn what happens when you run your mouth and get caught. He pled guilty to working with a different crime ring and was able to stay on this side of the dirt—for now.
He’s lucky he’ll be getting away with a traumatic brain injury instead of his body being dropped on his mother’s doorstep.
Karen threatened to hire a private investigator to look into the validity of his story, I told her to suck my dick instead.She didn’t appreciate it very much. Let her try to sue me for sexual harassment and I’ll check her gag reflexes on the stand.
I make a quick stop by the warehouse to instruct Marcus, who manages most outgoing deliveries, to take the boy’s mother home and make sure she has enough sedative in her system to sleep until morning.
Baby Boy didn’t give anyone my name, so Mommy Dearest gets to live to see another day. Unfortunately for him, he will have a traumatic brain injury so bad he won’t remember his own name. That’s my insurance policy for making sure he never goes back on his story.
After the warehouse, I stop at my favorite seafood restaurant, Royal Reds Shrimping Co. They have the best boiled and seasoned seafood on the Gulf Coast. I’ve been trying to buy this place for years but they won’t sell.
Ethan meets me at the restaurant. He’s been keeping an eye on the girl. He said she hasn’t eaten anything else or moved from in front of the window all day.
“What are you going to do with her, bro? You can’t keep her locked up like this forever.”
Legally and ethically speaking, I can’t.
Unlucky for her, I don’t care about either one of those things.
“I haven’t figured that out yet.” I down my beer and motion for the waitress to bring me another. What I do know is I can’t just let her go. I can’t explain the feeling. It'scompelling—overwhelming even.
The news story about an explosion that killed one person in Whiskey Rivers has been going viral today. Another person, a girl named Maya Rivers, was thought to be missing.
The same damn girl I pulled from the river last night. Was that what she was running from? Was she involved in the explosion? I can’t be sure. Doubt creeps in my mind because she’s so meek and fragile. Barely tried to put up a fight against us this morning. That’s not the usual profile of a killer.
Usually. There’s not a one-size-fits-all for murder. Sometimes the guilty party is the least expected.
