Damn Him to Hell

computer I’d just acquired? And why? Or—horror of horrors—had this come from Acme?

I poked around a little but I was too tired to concentrate and couldn’t see anything else that might actually constitute a real book instead of a modern translation of Themis’s spooky warning. Frustrated, I turned off the light and went to bed. I had exactly five hours left to sleep.

Which is when it struck me—I’d been rewarded after midnight. Usually, my rewards appeared when I got up in the morning. Since I’d not been to bed, I’d received this one a little earlier.

Sending Gloria to hell had only earned me a stupid rule instead of bigger boobs or better brains? I needed to start paying attention to what I wished for. Or maybe since Gloria had already sold her soul, she wasn’t worth much.

•   •   •

Early Monday morning, I stumbled out of bed when the radio alarm growled. It was supposed to play hard rock. The Zone—or pink ash—was apparently spreading its tentacles, but I didn’t have time to work out this latest mechanical kink. I was nothing if not determined. For the last dozen years of my life I’d been working toward one goal: becoming a lawyer. If eventually having my own office meant serving coffee to Judge Snooty and his minions, so be it.

I also wanted to check on Andre, see how our patients were doing, and if Julius had retrieved the cloud can from Tim. I desperately needed to get in touch with Fat Chick, but all I had time to do was shower and dress. Dane/Max had used his clout to get me this job, and after last night, it was obvious that clout was exceedingly useful. I wanted my share of it.

Rather than disturb Andre if he was still sleeping in my car, I took the Harley to work. Unprofessional, maybe, but it got me through rush-hour traffic in record time, although it also earned me a fair share of middle- finger salutes.

No one at the office acknowledged my existence. It was almost like being back in law school. I scurried from one task to the next, asking only if people wanted cream and sugar, or both criminal and torte law cases. I made phone calls, ran errands, provided copies.

In the courthouse halls, I overheard whispered conversations about the unusual circumstances of the Vanderventer murder case. Apparently, lawyers like discussing gory details. And if they aren’t gory enough, they make up more gruesome ones. The story was taking on a life of its own. And for a change, no one connected me with it at all.

Anonymity had suited me for years while I earned my degree. It didn’t sit so well now that I’d had a taste of what I was capable of doing. I wanted to know what the establishment thought about Andre’s case and Gloria’s behavior and the Vanderventer fortune. I wanted in on those conversations so I could help.

I didn’t need Tim to make me invisible. In here, I already was.

Seething with unhealthy frustration, I poured coffee.

I knew I needed to learn the courthouse ropes, and the judge’s office was the best place to learn. I wasn’t arrogant enough to believe that good grades and a few law books would make a lawyer of me, but neither would acting as a glorified secretary.

I kept my ears open, hoping I’d pick up the name of a strong defense attorney for Andre. Instead, all I heard were reasons for giving his case a wide berth. It seemed Andre was rumored to be a psychopathic nut job his father was protecting.

Okay, so chances were good that Andre was borderline psycho—except Gloria had been the one who’d gone berserk, not Andre. But the Vanderventers were wealthy, and Andre was an unknown factor. Odds were stacking up against him. I’d been the underdog enough to know how that worked.

It didn’t help that Andre had actually produced pics of Gloria, once given access to a computer. It seemed Dane’s glorified asshat of a grandmother had liked displaying her naked plastic assets around the pool boy—where the security cameras could see them. The courthouse gossip was ugly.

My frustration increased. Over lunch, I pulled out case law establishing precedent for Andre’s situation and began preparing a defense outline. Of course, I had more inside info than the average dick, but the case was fairly basic: accidental death. Playing the witnesses was the key. If the witnesses told the truth, they wouldn’t even have a manslaughter charge against Andre.

I could, of course, attempt to visualize the witnesses into honesty. I had no idea if it would work. And since it wasn’t exactly punishment for evil deeds, I figured it would come under personal gain and the payback would be painful. I didn’t want to end up a chimp or in a wheelchair. Caution had its uses.

I preferred sticking to the law. Andre was innocent. I had no reason to believe that justice couldn’t be served legally this time.

I didn’t have time to finish the outline before Reggie-baby demanded that I fetch a file from another office. He only had a year’s experience more than me, and he was a year younger.

I’d had enough practice these past years to bite my sharp tongue and trot obediently off to do his bidding, even though my lunch break wasn’t over. I’d spent a lifetime teaching good behavior to bullies by punching them out. I was an adult now. In this new environment, I had to use subtlety.

I politely delivered both files and coffee. In return, Reggie hugged me and tried to feel me up.

I was willing to put up with a lot, but sexual harassment didn’t happen on my time card. Pretending shock and surprise, I accidentally tipped the mug, and hot coffee steamed his Lauren trousers. And probably his Calvin Klein boxers, but I didn’t hang around long enough to find out. I left him yelling and yanking off his belt.

Giving me a glare that promised vengeance, Jill dashed off to the restroom for paper towels. I took her place at the front desk and answered phones while surreptitiously scanning the logs to see what cases the judge had on his agenda. Maybe I could study up and get ahead of Reggie. My eyebrows soared when I saw Vanderventer and MacNeill on the list.

As if the Universe had decided I needed a reward for scalding Ivy Boy’s balls, the phone rang and caller ID gave me Paddy’s name. Interesting.

Pretending I was snobby Jill, I answered with the office name.

“This is Padraig Vanderventer. I need to speak with Judge Snodgrass,” he said stiffly, probably because he never used a phone. I was totally amazed that he owned one. They didn’t work so hot in the Zone, so he was probably with Julius.

“The judge is in a meeting, Mr. Vanderventer,” I said with a completely straight face. “If I may ask what this is in reference to, I can pull the files and have them waiting on his desk when he returns your call.”

“Tina, is that you?” he asked with a heavy dose of ill humor. “Is that what they have you doing, answering phones?”

“Ah, what gave me away? And I was trying so very hard, too.” So maybe it hadn’t been Dane/Max who’d got me this job. Maybe Paddy had. Or Julius. They all apparently knew the old goat.

“No one in that office is ever that efficient,” he said with irritation. “Snodgrass was my mother’s attorney back in the days when she bothered to consult with anyone besides herself. She should have a will. The MacNeills are already talking to Acme management. I’d like to let them have the cesspool, but I need to keep my access to that building. Can you find the file?”

Jill and Reginald were standing over me, glaring. I admired the dark stain on Reggie’s trousers, tapped a pencil on the log, and nodded briskly. “Yes, sir, of course, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

I hung up, brushed past them as if they were obstacles to be hurdled, and, without offering a word of explanation, proceeded to the file vault. Really, I could play the silly game of one-upmanship. I’m not much of a team player, but my competitive instincts are strong. I knew how to whip Reggie’s ass. If he’d been smarter, he’d have learned to work with me instead of against me.

Since Jill thought I was working under the judge’s orders, she let me alone. Assuming Gloria had dropped the firm after she’d inherited Acme, I hunted through the pre-computer files from that decade. I located a Vanderventer file, but it contained no will. I quickly scanned documents for anything interesting, but they mostly related to Paddy’s father. He hadn’t left a will, apparently, but everything he owned had Gloria’s name on it. She got the lot. Bad estate planning. The taxes had probably sucked the Gucci right out of her purse.

I entered the file number into the computer to see if there was anything more recent, but as Paddy had said, Gloria went her own way once she had the estate in her hands. Notations of a few phone calls, several discussions and notes about a new will, stock exchanges, and land sales. There should have been a draft, at least, but there wasn’t.