Unlawful Desires

by Sassy Sinclair

  “Just calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! That bitch sent the picture to my chambers! What in the hell is she trying to do to me?”

  “Hold on. What?”

  “You heard me! Your psycho, fatal attraction ex-girlfriend had a messenger deliver an 8x10 picture of me with your dick down my throat. Thank God my clerk didn’t open it.”

  Marcel stopped breathing.

  “I’m meeting with the presiding judge in two days. If she sent that picture to him, I’m screwed. You said you would fix this. So fix it!”

  Marcel wanted to say something but had no words to offer. All of this was his fault. So what if he lost his job? He could find another law firm willing to hire him. If Sharla lost her seat on the bench, she couldn’t just go to another court.

  “Say something.”

  He didn’t know what to say. “I’ll handle it,” was all he could muster.

  “You better,” she said, then hung up.

  Marcel thought about driving over to Camille’s place, but he was way too angry. He had to be smart about this. He had to play Camille by her rules.

  After mulling over his plan for nearly an hour, he called Camille’s cell.

  “Hey, girl, what’s up?” Marcel forced himself to sound cheerful.

  It took Camille a second to reply. “I’m fine,” she said hesitantly. “And you?”

  “I told you I’d call. When can we get together?”

  Again, she was silent.

  “C’mon, babe. I’m sorry about our last conversation,” Marcel begged. “I was wrong to accuse you like that. That judge I was seeing turned out to be nothing but a bossy bitch. I broke up with her. I want you back. Can I see you tonight?”

  It didn’t take long for her to thaw.

  “Of course. Why don’t you come over? I’ll cook dinner for you. I bet you miss my fried catfish.”

  “I definitely do. Why don’t you cook dinner here? I want you in my bed tonight. How about seven?”

  Camille squealed with delight.

  At 6:45, she was standing on his doorstep carrying a large grocery bag as well as an overnight bag.

  “Hey, sweetie.” She pecked him on the lips as soon as he opened the door.

  He flinched, but Camille didn’t notice. She dropped her bag at the door and brushed past him into the kitchen. After placing the groceries and her purse on the counter, she shrugged out of her coat to reveal a short, mesh see-through dress, minus bra and panties. She had a bangin’ body, but right now, nothing about her turned him on.

  Marcel had a plan and couldn’t afford to get sidetracked. He knew Camille would want to have sex, and—truth be told—he could’ve easily obliged her. Unless it was with someone special, sex for him was strictly a physical act, not an emotional one. But Marcel knew that if he screwed this psychopath, she’d probably run straight to Sharla with the news. Until he got what he wanted, he would appease her without pulling out his pipe.

  “Damn, baby,” he said, walking up to her. “I’m lovin’ that dress.”

  He pinched her nipples.

  “Wooo!” She wiggled her hips. “You know I love it when you do that.”

  His hand crawled underneath the hem of her dress and fingered her clit. She was already dripping wet.

  “Oh, baby, I missed you so much. Oooh, that feels so good.”

  Camille was a fast and frequent comer. He could have her there in another minute or so, but he abruptly stopped.

  “Nooo!” She grabbed his hand and shoved it back between her legs. “Please, baby, don’t stop. I need this so much!”

  “I just wanted to give you a sample of what’s to come,” Marcel said, amused at his play on words. “Why don’t you get to work fixing my dinner.”

  He slapped her hard on the ass, which made her shriek and moan at the same time.

  Marcel winked at her. “We’re going to do some really, really kinky shit tonight.”

  “Promise?” Camille’s lips puckered into a girlish pout.

  He whacked her on the ass again, this time twice as hard.

  As she turned away, Marcel eyed her purse sitting on the counter. He assumed she had used her cell phone to take the picture at Sharla’s house. As soon as the right time presented itself, he planned to search through her phone and delete it. He just prayed she hadn’t saved another copy someplace else or sent a copy to anyone besides Sharla.

  “I was so glad you called me,” Camille chirped, removing a frying pan from the cabinet. “I wasn’t surprised. I knew you’d miss me.”

  Just then, her phone rang and she pulled it from her purse. Camille glanced at the screen, then placed the phone face down on the counter. “My mother. I’ll call her back later.”

  Damn.

  Marcel wanted her to make a call so he could memorize her password. But even if she answered a call, he would still have a few minutes to check her pictures app before the phone locked up again.

  “Hey, let’s catch a movie tonight. Call the theater to see if that new Denzel Washington movie is playing up the street.”

  “I don’t wanna to see a movie,” Camille whined. “I only wanna see you tonight.”

  She hopped on one of his kitchen stools and spread her legs.

  “C’mere,” she said, crooking a finger at him.

  When Marcel stepped up to her, she placed his hand between her legs. He grudgingly fingered her again, holding in his anger as she wiggled her ass around on the stool.

  “Put it inside,” she begged. “Please, please, please put it in.”

  Marcel stuck his middle finger deep inside her. As she squirmed around, he could tell by the increasing speed of her movements that she was close to coming. Again, he cut the show short and backed away.

  “No fair! Stop teasing me!”

  “Girl, check the movie for me. Otherwise you’re not going to get the present I bought you.”

  That changed her attitude. “You bought me something?”

  “Yep.” He pecked her on the forehead, then tweaked her right nipple. “But you’re not going to get it until you call to check the movie times.”

  “Nobody calls anymore. I’ll look it up on my app.”

  Camille tapped her password into the phone. Marcel made a mental note: 0-5-2-8. Her birthday. How bright of her.

  “It’s not showing there,” she said happily. “So I guess we’ll have to make our own movie tonight.” She swung her hips from side to side. “The X-rated kind. Now where’s my present?”

  “It’s in the bedroom.”

  As she scampered down the hallway, Marcel snatched her phone and punched in the password.

  Damn. He’d never used a Samsung before. Where in the hell is the pictures app?

  He heard a shriek from the bedroom. “The flowers are beautiful! And you bought me lingerie too? I love you so much!”

  “Try it on,” Marcel yelled down the hallway.

  He knew the grocery store flowers and the Target lingerie would do the trick.

  What the fuck?

  A five-year-old could operate his iPhone. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out this phone. Marcel was so busy trying to find the pictures app that he didn’t notice Camille standing inches away, all decked out in a pink negligee.

  “What are you doing with my phone?” Confusion plagued her face.

  “What do think I’m doing? Where’s the picture, Camille?”

  “I already told you I didn’t take any goddamn picture!”

  “I’m tired of your bullshit.” Marcel walked over to her and slammed the phone against her chest. “Show me your fuckin’ pictures file.”

  “This is ridiculous. I don’t have to show you anything. I—”

  Marcel clamped the fingers of his right hand around her neck so tight,
her eyes protruded. “I’m not playing with you, bitch. Open the goddamn pictures app.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” she gurgled. “I can’t breathe!”

  Marcel let go of her neck and rocked back on his heels, surprised by the intensity of his rage. He’d never put his hands on a woman before and he was stunned that he had just now. His anger, however, didn’t dissipate.

  “Just do it!” he ordered.

  Camille shakily tapped the screen of her phone as a tear rolled down her cheek. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she sobbed. “I told you I didn’t take any picture.”

  She handed him the phone. “Here.”

  Marcel quickly swiped through her pictures. It wasn’t there.

  He was acting like a chump. There was no way that even a simpleton like Camille would’ve come over here with that picture still on her phone. Of course she deleted it.

  “Did you keep a copy?” he yelled at her.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know you took that picture and sent it to Sharla.” Marcel jabbed his finger into her chest. “If it pops up anywhere else, I swear I’ll kill you.”

  Camille backed away, genuinely frightened. “You must be crazy. I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re a goddamn liar.”

  Marcel stuffed the phone back into her purse and threw it at her.

  “Now get the fuck out of my house!”

  Chapter 37

  Sharla

  “These spoiled brat summer associates are driving me batty,” Reese complained. “They can’t find their way to the bathroom by themselves, much less the courthouse.”

  For the last ten minutes, Reese had been ranting to Sharla about the law students they’d hired to work at her law firm that summer.

  As head of the Summer Associate Program, Reese was responsible for planning parties and other social events for the law clerks. It was her job to make sure the students had enough fun to be duped into returning once they passed the bar exam. In exchange for a starting salary of nearly $200,000 a year, the firm would literally grind them up and spit them out. Within three years of graduation, more than half of the young lawyers would quit or be fired. It was a classic bait-and-switch the big firms have been pulling off for decades.

  “All of them can’t be spoiled,” Sharla said. “You and I were summer associates once, remember?”

  “Girl, these selfie-generation kids are nothing like us. I asked one of them to do some research that would’ve taken him all of thirty minutes. The little boy checked his watch and actually had the audacity to say, It’s after five, I’ll get to it in the morning. I was too stunned to tell him to stay and do it anyway.”

  “Yeah, that was a bit bold.”

  “Ya think? Anyway, I just wanted to wish you luck before your meeting. You ready?”

  “I guess so. In just over two hours I’ll know if I still have a job.”

  “Don’t worry. You will.”

  “If you say so. The presiding judge has a lot of discretion. He can slap me on the wrist or totally screw me by referring the case to the CJP.”

  “Just remember to be respectful. If you gotta eat crow, swallow it with a smile. Any idea yet who sent you that picture?”

  “Yeah. Marcel’s ex-girlfriend.”

  “So he found proof that she did it?”

  “I don’t need proof. I just pray she didn’t send it to anyone else. I guess I’ll find that out in the meeting.”

  “Who’s the judge you’re meeting with?”

  “Judge White. He’s out of the Santa Monica courthouse.”

  “Judge Leonard White?”

  “Yeah, you know him?”

  “I have to go,” Reese said hurriedly. “Expect a call from me before your meeting. If I can’t get back to you in time, don’t walk out of that meeting without checking your phone first.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I have something I need to check out.”

  “What are you—?”

  Reese hung up.

  “Whatever,” Sharla mumbled to herself.

  She rehearsed in her head one more time what she planned to say to save her career, then said a quick prayer.

  Chapter 38

  Marcel

  Marcel hated coming into the office and having nothing to do. But he would be damned if he was going to quit and leave money on the table. They could freeze him out if they wanted. He planned to show up and twiddle his thumbs until he got his money. All of it.

  He was still baffled about Camille refusing to admit that she took that picture. As he was sitting there thinking about it, an idea came to him. He picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Grimes Investigations,” said the gruff voice on the other end of the line.

  “Hey, my man, this is Marcel Dennard from Sherman & Finnegan. I need your help.”

  Marcel had used Grimes as an investigator on a number of cases over the years.

  “I’m here for you, man. Law firms are my favorite cash cows.” He cleared his throat, then laughed. “Excuse me. I meant my favorite clients.”

  “This isn’t a case for the firm. It’s personal. I’m paying for it out of my own pocket. So don’t pad the hours.”

  “Lay it on me,” Grimes said. “How can I help?”

  “First, everything I’m about to tell you is highly confidential.”

  “Dude, I’m insulted. You’re not talking to an amateur.”

  “I know. I just wanted to put that on the record.”

  Marcel told Grimes everything about his predicament, from Camille’s keying his car to her vandalizing Sharla’s backyard to the picture she took.

  “Wow. This chick sounds a little unhinged. She must’ve been something else in bed. The crazy ones usually are.”

  Marcel grinned. “The girl knew how to take care of business,” Marcel said with a smile. “But she ain’t got nothing on the judge.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Grimes said. “I’ve come across a couple of those brainy, uptight chicks who turned out to be freaks of the week.”

  Marcel felt a sexual stirring and waved it off. Now wasn’t the time to get distracted thinking about Sharla.

  “That’s not all she did,” Marcel continued. “Camille had a messenger deliver a copy of the picture to Sharla’s office at the courthouse. I need you to get her to confess, then scare the shit out of her so she deletes it and coughs up every copy.”

  “Are you sure she’s behind all this?”

  “Yep.”

  “But if she confessed to keying your car, why wouldn’t she also admit snapping that picture and doing the other stuff?”

  “When she keyed my car, I don’t think she had any idea that Sharla was a judge. She’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she’s not stupid enough to admit that she terrorized a judge. And I neglected to mention that I scared the shit out of her the other night, so she’s probably too afraid to tell me what she did now.”

  Marcel explained how he nearly choked an answer out of Camille.

  “Dude, I’m glad you didn’t take it any further. Next time, call me to handle your dirty work.”

  “So do you think you can help?”

  “I’m certain I can. I suspect your girl left a lot of loose ends. The first thing I’ll do is track down the messenger who delivered that envelope to the judge. That’ll be easy.”

  “You think so?”

  “I don’t think so, I know so. Are you forgetting that I’m the best in the biz?”

  “Okay, then. Do your thing, my brotha.”

  Chapter 39

  Sharla

  It was almost three o’clock and Sharla was pacing back and forth in her office. Her meeting with Presiding Judge Leonard White was
just down the hall. Normally, her supervising judge would’ve also attended the disciplinary meeting. But Checkoff was speaking at a judicial conference in Vegas. Judge White was using his office for the meeting.

  Sharla glanced at her face in the mirror behind her door.

  This is it girl.

  She opened the door and started to walk out but dashed back over to her desk for her purse and cell phone. If this didn’t go well, she planned to go straight to her car.

  Sharla walked confidently down the hallway, her head held high.

  She knocked on the door and heard a gruff voice instruct her to come in.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, taking a seat.

  “Afternoon.” Judge White did not look up. He was combing through what she assumed was the case file that Judge Checkoff had prepared regarding her conduct.

  Several long minutes passed before Judge White acknowledged her presence again.

  “This is certainly quite troubling.” He frowned at her over his bifocals.

  Judge White was the quintessential image of a 1950’s judge. Snow white hair, thick, ruddy cheeks and fifty pounds overweight.

  “You came to this court with some very high recommendations. I’m stunned at your behavior, young lady.”

  Out of everything he had just said, his addressing her as young lady was what bothered her most. She wasn’t a child. She was a Los Angeles Superior Court judge with credentials far superior to Judge White’s. She researched him online and learned that he graduated from some no name law school in the Midwest.

  “So what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “As I told Judge Checkoff, hearing the Kress Pharmaceuticals case was an incredible oversight on my part. At the time Sherman & Finnegan joined the case, I wasn’t involved with Mr. Dennard. With so many law firms involved, I somehow overlooked their name on the motion. Another law firm actually argued the motion. The Sherman & Finnegan partner didn’t make an appearance at the hearing.”

  “And what did your boyfriend have to say for himself? He certainly had to know his law firm was appearing before you.”

  I don’t have a boyfriend.

  “He didn’t know that a partner at his firm had a case before me.”