Page 94 of Reveal

“Excuse me?” He picks up a paperweight on my desk without asking and measures its weight in his hand before looking back at me.

“Was he sober, or was he high?”

“That question leads me to believe that you know him.”

“And your response leads me to believe I was right—you’ve never met him face-to-face. You’ve never seen him twitching from his need for more blow or smack or whatever the fuck it is he’s always high on.”

“I’m not quite sure what this has to do with anything.”

“It has to do with everything.” I smile broadly.

“Again, I’ll ask you to expand if you so desire.”

“Well, a high Brian will come and lie to you about how I threatened his life and then punched him for nothing more than showing up at my girlfriend’s doorstep close to midnight. How we chatted about the nice weather we’re having, and then when he told me he loved the Yankees, I chose to punch him, since I’m a die-hard Red Sox fan.”

“So you did punch him?”

“A sober Brian,” I continue without missing a beat, “would inform you how he showed up to my girlfriend’s house in an attempt to extort money from her. And then when he found me there instead, after assessing the watch on my wrist, tried to extort even more money from me. How he asked me to pay an exorbitant amount for him not to protest the adoption of his daughter to his sister-in-law, a.k.a. my girlfriend. He’d tell you he’s just looking for some more cash to fund that nasty habit he has that makes him unfit to parent said daughter as well. He’d tell you that as much as I would have loved to plow my fist into his nose, I didn’t. Instead, after he made a more than vulgar comment about my girlfriend that had me fearing for her safety, I took a step toward him, and he promptly turned to run like a chicken. How he tripped over his own feet and fell face-first into the little retaining wall she has around a raised flower bed.” I shove my hands in my pockets and lean back against the desk behind me and shrug. “He might even tell you that if you head over to her house, you’ll probably see a small spot of his blood on the edge of said wall where his cheek cut open when he hit it. I can guess which person you talked to, though.”

“Who’s that?” he leads me when he has no clue I’m pulling him by the reins exactly where I want him to go.

“I don’t think sober Brian has seen the light of day for some time now. Maybe he cleans it up when he has an appointment with social services, but he’s at the point where he needs drugs just to maintain his normal. But no, sober Brian hasn’t been around for some time. Not since way before his girlfriend committed suicide because the drugs he continually fed her were too much for her to break the chains from so she could be a good mother. On a scale of one to being a stellar individual, I think you can see where he stands.”

“I didn’t ask any of that, Mr. Lockhart.”

“Just doing my civil service, Detective, and giving you the whole picture. Sometimes it’s important to get a feel for the person who filed the complaint before you go out and question the person he’s pointing the finger at.”

That and saying it places all the shit he’s done on a permanent record. Something I can corroborate in court if need be. Documentation a judge won’t be able to overlook if it comes down to a custody battle between Vaughn and Brian over Lucy after social services decides who should be her legal guardian.

“Let’s get back on task here.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s a habit of mine to paint a picture in opening arguments.”

The detective shifts on his feet. I’m driving him crazy. Good. That was my plan.

He glances back down to his notepad to remember where we were before I distracted him. “So your story is that he cut his face when he fell and hit a wall?”

Wide, blinking eyes. Slowly shaking head. “Yes, but you don’t have to take my word for it. I’m sure he gets beat up regularly. You hang with a nasty crowd, you run the risk of getting the shit beat out of you when you don’t pay up. At least that’s what I’ve seen time and again in my line of work.”

He eyes me, and I don’t give a flying fuck if he believes me or not. “You’re a divorce lawyer, correct?”

I nod and point to my business card on the desk with a cheesy grin.

“Don’t think you see many beat-up druggies from missed supplier payments in your line of work, now do you?”

I chuckle and cross my arms over my chest, never breaking eye contact. “It’s amazing the things people will do when money is on the line and love has been broken.”

He twists his lips as we just stare at each other in the silence of my office. A challenge is given. An acknowledgment that I am enjoying talking in circles.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add?” he asks.

“You tell me.”

“Mr. Lockhart, I don’t play games.”

“Believe me, neither do I.”

“Then we’re done here?” he asks.