Unprotected With the Mob Boss

by Nicole Fox

“That’s the second piece of advice,” she says as I follow her out of the courtroom. “The first one is don’t piss off the chief of police. And that’s why I won’t kill his daughter.”

  Welkin’s has a grayish-blue theme—the walls, the tables, the lawyers in their gray and blue suits.

  As the hostess leads us to the back patio, I can see my future. I see myself sitting with a stack of documents, fully immersed in the injustice of a high-profile murder.

  Or, at least, I dream of that until I see the menu.

  “They seem to have forgotten to put the prices on this menu,” I say. The sun radiates on half of Elizabeth’s face while it barely reaches my hand.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m paying,” she says, picking up the bar menu.

  “People spend too much time telling me to not worry.” I grab my menu as a warm breeze tries to steal it from me. It’d likely cost me all the money in my wallet just to replace it. “I’d find that a lot easier to do if there weren’t people getting blasted drunk and running teenagers over.”

  She sets down the menu. “You can’t save everyone.”

  “I don’t want to. I just want the people who commit crimes to be punished for those crimes.” I take out my bag and yank on the zipper, ripping some of the material that was already threadbare. “I also want to pay for my lunch.”

  “Allison, you did a lot of legwork for this case. You’d be making me feel better by accepting this small token of gratitude. If you feel that obligated about it, you can do some errands for me later.” Elizabeth takes the wallet I put on the table and tosses it back onto my lap. “You’re going to need to find a way to relax before you become a prosecutor or you’ll end up burning out too fast.”

  “I’m relaxed.” I slouch into my seat, trying to look the part.

  She raises an eyebrow. “The whole time we worked on this case, you didn’t want a single Friday to yourself. There are much worse cases than this—ones where little children are killed—and I wouldn’t blame you if you sat home and drank alone for those. But for these other cases, you need a life outside of it. You can’t let the work consume you because then every case will rip you to shreds.”

  “I don’t mind letting it consume me if it means that a victim’s family gets justice.”

  Elizabeth takes a deep breath. “Allison—”

  “I just want the families to know that I worked as hard as I could on their case.” I sit up again. “I don’t want to be the reason someone like Jeffrey walks free. What’s the point of being a prosecutor if I don’t do that?”

  “You have to look at it as a long game.”

  We lean away from each other as the waitress returns to pour water for us. Elizabeth orders us some wine. After the waitress checks my driver’s license and leaves, Elizabeth sips from her glass.

  “You have one year left as an undergrad. After that, you’ll be a law student. Once your professors know you want to be a prosecutor, they’re going to look down on you if they think you’re too fragile. Bleeding hearts have a small chance of surviving as defense lawyers. But they’ll get slaughtered on our side. Our job is to prosecute. That’s it. How deeply you want to fight for justice is admirable, but you can’t become emotionally invested in every case. Better still if you don’t become invested in any of them. This is a chess game and you need to make it impossible for the defense to move without knocking out their king—the defendant. You need to keep your eye on that goal, not on people’s feelings.”

  The wind charges through the area, rattling the patio umbrellas and scattering the menus and cloth napkins. Elizabeth tries to fix her hair, but it seems pointless to me when the wind keeps coming.

  “I’m going to be blunt,” I forewarn Elizabeth.

  She laughs. “I’m good with that.”

  I set my hands on top of my bag. “It sounds like you don’t consider morality and belief in the law to be part of your job.”

  “You should fully believe in the law and morality—as long as it helps your case.”

  The waitress returns with the wine. Elizabeth asks for more time with the menu. I take a sip of the wine as the waitress walks away.

  “Allison, Jeffrey Douglas will drink and drive again, and if we’re lucky, he’ll only hurt someone else, not kill them. I will prosecute him then and with that added DUI on his record, he’ll spend a good chunk of his life in prison. In this job, that has to be good enough for you. Anything else will drive you insane.”

  She smiles at me as she fixes a strand of her hair.

  “You could be great at this job, Allison. You’ve got the drive, you’ve got the passion, and you’ve got the commitment. But you know what the most important part is?”

  “Criminals continuing to commit crimes?”

  She laughs. “That is also true. But the second most important part is that you don’t let those criminals live rent-free inside your head. I’ll have forgotten Jeffrey Douglas’ name within the next two weeks.”

  “I don’t see myself forgetting anytime soon,” I say. She lifts her wineglass.

  “That’s what this is for.” She keeps her glass raised. I pick my glass up and clink it against hers. “Here’s to Jeffrey Douglas’ future demise and to the day we forget his name.”

  I drink my wine. I plan to forget him, but I just keep imagining his headlights coming straight toward me or toward someone I love. I imagine that he could be drinking right now—just like me—celebrating his win before he gets behind the wheel. I imagine the alcohol also helps him forget names.

  But the name he’s forgetting is Jenny Dressler’s. An innocent girl. Mowed down by a drunken murderer.

  If I’m the DA when he enters a courtroom again, I’ll make him remember.

  I’ll make it so that he’s saying the name of every person he’s hurt while he’s lying in his prison cot, begging to die.

  3

  Allison

  I imagined that having an EMT as a roommate would come in handy.

  If there was an emergency, she could help.

  If I was ever lost while driving, I could call her because she’d be familiar with all of the streets.

  Best of all, she’d be too tired from her demanding job to care at all about my life.

  Yeah right.

  “You know I can’t show up alone,” Julia says, untangling one of her dangly earrings from her curly butterscotch hair. She’s wearing a spectacular silver dress that shimmers like water every time she moves. I’m in a white T-shirt and men’s sweatpants that are almost too thick to move at all. “This is, like, the one night that Jonathan is working there and I’m not on duty.”

  I glance around our apartment, wishing it was bigger, so I’d have a place to hide. “Why don’t you take Katie?”

  “Because Katie has double Ds that men treat like a once-in-a-lifetime meteor shower. The only difference is that they’re staring down instead of up.”

  I glance down at my own boobs. At best, they’re shooting stars.

  “Your boobs are fine. I love you, Ally, but I know you’re just going to sit at the bar, pretend to drink, and not interfere while I convince Jonathan that a bird in his hand is better than two in the bush. And by birds, I mean boobs.”

  “Why would you let him only touch one of your boobs?”

  She puts her hands on her hips. “See, this is what happens when you spend too much time in a courtroom. Your sarcasm scale is off the charts. You need to get out.”

  “Why do people keep telling me that?” I pick a piece of lint off my shirt. “I’m not a dog you need to take for a walk. We have alcohol here. I have my laptop. Pizza delivery is wildly efficient these days. I’m good.”

  “Putting a leash on you might help.” Julia checks the clock. “You have ten minutes to prove that you’re the best roommate in the world. Otherwise, Jonathan will see me and think I’m a sad, pathetic loser, who could only pine for him instead of hanging out with my friends. I’ll never be able to step into Black Glacier again.”

 
I stop picking at my shirt. I sit up. “Black Glacier?”

  “Yeah.” She bounces on the balls of her feet. “It’s a bit expensive, but that just means the male selection is top shelf. You’ve heard of it?”

  Yes. At the trial. Jeffrey Douglas mentioned it.

  “I think so,” I say, concentrating on my shirt again, hoping she won’t see my mind racing.

  “Someone must have mentioned it to you at the DA’s office. They’re all well-off, aren’t they? They probably go there every night and drink their fancy champagne.”

  Most women fantasize about male models or billionaires or the perfect destination wedding.

  My perfect romance is sitting next to Jeffrey Douglas, lulling him into the belief that he’s about to get laid, and when he’s about to grab his keys, promising to show me his apartment with a view, I whisper to him that this whole thing was a sting and he’s going to prison for a long, long time.

  That’s not how the law works, but we all have our own dreams.

  “If I go with you, will you stop complaining about the DA?” I ask Julia.

  She grins. “If everything goes right tonight, I might marry the DA.”

  “Fine. But I don’t think she’s into women.”

  She whoops, giving me a quick hug.

  Outside, I can hear police sirens in the distance. It’s not unusual around here—last week, I couldn’t get into our apartment building because the guy on the floor above us was threatening the police through his door.

  But this time, I take it as a good sign. It means justice is coming.

  “I can’t believe you,” Julia mutters as we sit down at the bar.

  Black Glacier is more sophisticated than I imagined after picturing Jeffrey Douglas in it. The lightbulbs are all various shades of blue-green. The bar and tables appear to be made of sea glass and there seems to be some kind of mechanism in the floor, so whenever somebody steps on it, a tiny aurora borealis effect is triggered. It’s beautiful and ingenious, but it seems like a liability when people are drunk.

  It’s a personal injury lawyer’s dream.

  “You can’t believe me?” I ask.

  She gestures to my clothes. “This.”

  “I haven’t changed.”

  “Exactly,” she says.

  “You didn’t want to bring Katie because she’d distract Jonathan. I won’t distract anyone, which should make you happy. It makes me happy.”

  She shakes her head at me. “You could meet Prince Charming tonight and yet you look like you took the worst clothes from a frat boy’s closet.”

  I chuckle. “Prince Charming proposed to Cinderella when she was wearing rags,” I point out.

  She sighs. Then, abruptly, her eyes light up.

  “Hey, Jon.” She waves at the bartender. “Could I get a lemon drop?”

  She turns to me. I smile at Jonathan. He’s cute enough, but the sheer amount of product in his hair screams “high-maintenance,” too much for me, at least.

  “You got it. What about your friend?”

  “Could I just get a rum and Coke?” I ask.

  After he leaves, Julia turns to me. “What do you think?”

  It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to say something snarky about the number of buttons on his shirt he seems to have forgotten. But Julia clearly likes him, so I decide not to be an ass for a change.

  “He’s cute—” I start to say.

  But then I stop.

  Because I’ve spotted someone. The very someone I was desperately hoping I’d see here. Not a gelled-up bartender or a second-year banker trying to blow his bonus check to impress some girls in the next booth over.

  It’s him. Jeffrey Douglas.

  He’s here.

  I can’t believe the worthless asshole is here right after his trial. If he had any semblance of a soul, he’d spend at least a night mourning Jenny Dressler.

  But no, looks like it’s back to business as usual.

  “We should dance,” I say suddenly, grabbing Julia’s hand. Jonathan drops our drinks off before leaving to serve some other patrons. Julia’s eyes follow him like a puppy whose owner is leaving for work. I follow her gaze and curse silently. “He’ll notice,” I reassure her. “It’s a good chance to show him that you’re up for a good time.”

  She picks up her glass and smiles. “I knew you’d get into a good mood as soon as you were here.”

  I don’t bother explaining.

  I take my glass and we move onto the dance floor. As we sway together, the swirls of color move under our feet. I keep a close eye on Douglas while I dance. Most of his attention is on his drink, but occasionally his eye wanders to one of the younger women that walk by.

  Julia’s dress looks even more like water in the blue lighting. She laughs as I pretend to grind up against her.

  As I sip from my drink, I can feel the world starting to feel less constricting. Less vile. Julia pulls me closer to her. We continue dancing. One song, two, three. For a moment, I almost forget Jeffrey Douglas exists. But then my eyes land on him again, and the same familiar squeeze of anger takes hold in my stomach.

  “I’m gonna go convince Jonathan that I’m suffering from a stress fracture in my ankle,” she whispers. “I may need him to drive me home because I’ll be too drunk to do it myself. Are you okay by yourself? You have a number to call a cab, right?”

  “I’m good,” I promise her. “Go get your man.”

  And I’ll go get mine.

  She winks before stumbling back to the bar, rubbing her ankle.

  I move off the dance floor, finding a seat a couple of stools away from Douglas.

  My fantasy scenario runs through my head again. This time through, it seems silly, unrealistic. I’m not a secret agent. I’m not even a police officer.

  But I could tell him that I’m watching him. I could make him paranoid that there’s somebody who’s always ready to call the police. I could set such a hot fire of intense suspicion under his ass that he’d never drink again.

  As I’m about to stand up, my phone vibrates in my bag. I struggle to get the zipper to open without tearing the material further. I take out my phone. It’s my father.

  “Hello?” I answer quickly. It’s hard to hear him through the noise of the crowd and the boom of the speakers.

  “Hey, Ally,” he says. “I heard about the verdict. I’m so sorry. I know you worked hard on it.”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t great,” I say, keeping an eye on Jeffrey. He’s focused on a woman that barely looks twenty-one.

  “I know it’s a shitty feeling, but it will—I’m sorry, it’s hard to hear anything. Where are you? Are you at a party?”

  Even my father is surprised I’ve joined the outside world.

  “I’m at a nightclub,” I say. “Julia begged me to join her.”

  He gives a small noise that’s either a sigh or a growl. “I thought Julia would have been a better influence.”

  “Julia is great, Dad. Don’t be mad at her. I’m just her wingwoman.”

  “Just be careful. Don’t accept a drink that you haven’t personally seen being made. Don’t set your drink down when your eyes aren’t on it. Don’t go home with—”

  “Dad, you’ve told me all of this before. You know that I know better.”

  “If you’d seen the cases that I’ve seen, you’d go to sleep saying all these things over and over,” he says. “But it’s not just that. Remember that if you want to be DA, your history can become a liability. Don’t even be caught around anything illegal. You’re also a reflection of me. I know that shouldn’t matter, but it does.”

  “I’d never do anything to make you look bad,” I tell him. “You know me. I’ve never even smoked weed.”

  “I hope Julia isn’t trying to get you to do that, too.”

  “No, Dad.”

  “I’m going to head home.” I hear his car door slam shut. “You’ll call me when you get back to your apartment?”

  “Absolutely,” I say.

&
nbsp; “Good night, Ally. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Dad.”

  I set my phone back into my bag and zip it back up. I look down at my drink. I shouldn’t have come to the club. I practically came here looking for trouble. As a cop’s daughter, I’ve heard enough criminal cases to know that if you look for trouble, you’ll find it.

  I take a sip of my drink, but I can’t convince myself to leave. I glance over at Jeffrey and watch him order another drink. It creates a wave of rage inside me. If I walk away now, he’ll likely drive home while he’s completely wasted. What kind of person would I be if I walked away now? Not the person I want or need to be.

  I focus on my own drink, which is mostly melted ice now. For a second, it feels like Jeffrey’s eyes are on me, but when I look over, he’s concentrating on his drink again. I look around. Nobody is watching me.

  I wanted to make him paranoid, but it seems like paranoia is contagious.

  Unless someone is spying on me, too.

  Near the end of the night, I watch Jonathan wrap his arm around Julia and guide her out of the nightclub. There’s only one bartender and four patrons left over now, one of which is Jeffrey. I’m resting my head on the bar, irritation searing my thoughts.

  A skinny young guy with a goatee leans up against the bar next to me.

  “Hey, what’s up?” he asks. “You looked lonely over here and I thought—”

  “I’m not lonely,” I state.

  “Oh. Uh, okay. But if you wanted some company, I’d lo—”

  “I don’t.”

  “Okay. Bitch.” He stomps away from me. I watch the swirls of color burst under his feet with every step.

  The bartender stops in front of me. “That has to be the sixth guy you’ve rejected. A bad day at work?”

  “It was a terrible day at work,” I say. “It was only four guys though. Most of them can see from the clothes I’m wearing that I’m not interested in them.”

  “Optimism isn’t the worst sin, but it can be irritating. Do you want another drink?”

  “I’m good,” I say, sitting up as Jeffrey pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He leaves the bar, heading toward the back of the club. There’s an exit back there. He could easily smoke a cigarette and go around the building to get to his car in the front.