by Dave Daren
“Second is to own a hundred pairs of Louboutins,” she giggled.
“Of course,” I chuckled. “The third?”
“A wine cellar,” she said as she sipped from her drink. “Every girl deserves a wine cellar, and the mansion that comes along with it.”
I chuckled. “Those are worthwhile goals. I’ll wait until Harmony’s situation is behind us, and then I’ll open a bottle of scotch for us that will make your Louboutin heels look cheap.”
“Pfffft,” she raspberried. “Mr. Fancy Pants and his top shelf brown liquor.”
“That’s Mr. Fancy Pants, Esquire, thank you very much,” I said, and we both started laughing. When our laughter subsided, our eyes met, and she leaned into my shoulder.
“Soooo…” she began. “Should we have the talk now?”
“Uh oh.”
“I wasn’t sure how to bring it up,” she whispered. “I-I feel strongly for you Henry, I have for a very long time, since we started working together. I know you date a lot of women and probably don’t want to get into anything serious, and I totally understand the stress we’re under, and the relief we felt last night and this morning, and I kinda wanna go again when we get back to the tree house, and then a few more times tonight and-- I’m rambling like an idiot again.”
“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I care about you a lot, too, and I’ve had a little crush on you since we first met.”
“What?” she gasped as she melodramatically placed her hand on her chest. “You’ve had a thing for me this whole time? I never knew.”
“Stop it,” I laughed.
“Okay, I totally knew.” She laughed.
“I knew you knew.”
“No you didn’t,” she said as she stuck her tongue out at me.
“So you came all the way out here to Sedona because…”
“Shhhh,” Vicki said as she put her finger over my mouth to silence my words. “I’m enjoying the whole ‘Henry Irving has a crush on me’ moment, don’t ruin it by pointing out my creepy stalker-like behavior.”
“It’s okay.” I smiled at her and took her hand in mine. “When this is over, we can sort it all out, but for now just know that I really care--”
Before I could finish the thought, Chet Levinson walked through the door. The man was wearing the same suit we saw him in a few days ago in court, only with a different shirt and a blue tie compared to the previous red one. As Vicki and I stood up, I caught her fashion-sense eyes focus on his tie, and I guessed she must have noticed his limited wardrobe. A lot of rookie attorneys in big cities would take that as a sign that this guy was a small potatoes pushover.
I didn’t.
I could tell by his confident bearing that he had a limited wardrobe because of a lack of vanity, not a lack of intelligence or class. I wondered how many defense attorneys got steamrolled by him over the years as a result of underestimating him, and then I wondered if his wardrobe was an intentional choice designed to get exactly that outcome.
“Mr. Irving,” his deep voice boomed through the small eatery as we shook hands, and then he turned to Vicki and continued, “And this is Ms…?”
“Vicki Park, I’m--”
“She’s a partner… at my firm,” I declared, and she almost did a double take at the sudden promotion.
“Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Park,” he said to her, and then turned back to me. “There is a rumor going around that you’re starting a firm here in Sedona. Any truth to that?”
“I’ve got a lot to get back to in LA,” I said.
“Well that’s a shame,” he said. “The legal community here could really use a pair of sharp minds like you two. There isn’t a ton of work, but there is more than enough for a good lawyer, if you get my meaning.”
“I think I do,” I said and motioned to the booth. “Let’s have a seat.” His subtle jab at the low caliber of lawyers like Toby in town aside, the guy seemed like a really straight shooter.
After we ordered, Mr. Levinson began. “Let’s get down to brass tacks. Now that you’re representing your sister and had a look under the hood of this case, you want to discuss the plea bargain, I assume.”
“Something like that, actually. I--”
“I know a lawyer of your caliber is probably looking under any and every rock, but this thing is sewn up shut,” he interrupted. “The state offered Harmony ten years, and you turned it down, what deal would you think is appropriate now?” He took a sip of his iced tea and looked at me for a response.
“I want you to drop the charges,” I answered, and the dignified man’s eyes nearly bulged out of his skull.
“Now, Henry--” he began, but I didn’t let him finish.
“I have my forensic analyst’s report of Harmony’s ‘bloody’ shirt,” I said and handed him the manila envelope with the paperwork. “You know Dr. Gaimon’s work, I presume. He is very thorough, and as you can read, he just dismantled the strongest evidence in your case.”
“This-- this is--” he stammered.
“Quite interesting, yes, I thought so, too,” I told him. “Either the police analyst is the biggest idiot in the universe or this is a con job. And based on some other evidence I’m putting together that ties him to the Russian mob, I think it will be the latter.”
“Idiot, I’ll believe,” Chet said, “but the Russian mob? In Sedona? Are you serious?”
“Deadly serious, Mr. Levinson,” Vicki chimed in. “We can credibly tie him and the owner of Harmony’s gallery to a crime syndicate in New York. This is big.” Vicki picked up a chip, scooped up some guac, and took a big bite without breaking eye contact with him.
“This is frankly the most fantastical story I’ve ever heard,” he said. It was obvious he hadn’t seen the forensic report coming, and it had knocked him off balance, but he had already begun to process everything and recompose himself. “You have a few more days until you have to turn over your discovery, and I can’t wait to see everything you have. But if I can give you a warning as a professional courtesy, juries here are going to laugh you out of court if you bring up a vast conspiracy by the Russian mob to frame your sister. I would drop that angle if I were you.”
“It’s not an angle--” Vicki began but Chet interrupted her.
“I’ll figure out where Mr. Pell’s analysis went wrong,” he told us in the same paternal tone some of my law school professors used to lecture us with. “But even without blood on her shirt, there is more than enough evidence to secure the conviction. She was present at the scene at the time, the murder weapon was found in her possession, and she had a clear revenge motive.”
“She didn’t do it,” I declared. “She couldn’t stab the guy to death with a knife without getting a drop of blood on her clothes. You know it, I know it, so drop the charges.”
Before he could respond the waiter came by and delivered our lunch. Vicki had ordered a torta, Chet got the shredded pork tacos, and I had a big bowl of extra cheesy chicken tortilla soup. Chet asked the waiter if he could get his to go, and along with his credit card the waiter took his plate back and went to box it up. Chet looked as upset as a man of his experience and composure would allow, and we sat in silence for a few awkward moments before he responded to my last statement.
“Manslaughter, five years minus good behavior,” he almost whispered.
“Chet… drop the charges,” I responded a bit disappointed. Still, inside I was ecstatic that he had given ground, we were winning.
“I’m not dropping any charges,” he declared, back at his normal volume. “Like I said, the evidence we have is enough to secure a conviction.”
“You’re seeking murder one,” I said matter-of-factly. “If you were confident in a conviction, you wouldn’t be offering me manslaughter. You can’t prove this was premeditated. Hell, Chet, you can’t even prove Harmony did it. Drop the charges.”
The waiter returned with Chet’s to-go bag and his credit card receipt. Chet thanked him and turned back to us. “Manslaughter, five. This i
s my final offer. Take it, or I’ll see you in court.”
“Thank you for meeting with us today,” I said as we stood up and shook hands. “We’ll be seeing you in court, then.”
“This is a big mistake, Henry,” he said as he took a step back.
“I agree, one of us is making the biggest mistake of their career,” I said and looked him right in the eye.
“Goodbye, Mr. Irving, Ms. Park,” he said with a nod.
“Adios,” the two of us responded in unison, and then Chet walked out the door. I sat back down and ate a big spoonful of my soup. It was super spicy and cheesy and salty.
“I’ll be honest, before today, I didn’t think we could actually win,” Vicki confessed.
“And now?” I asked.
“Now, I think they don’t stand a chance,” she said and then planted a big kiss on my cheek.
Chapter 15
After the lunch meeting with Chet, Vicki and I drove back to my folks’ house. As soon as we parked, AJ sent a text to confirm that she handled all the paperwork we set for her to do, so I told her to take the rest of the day off. Then Vicki and I climbed back up the ladder to the treehouse, and I focused on cramming the awful dialogue from Horace’s play into my brain.
Vicki continued running lines with me until dinner time although she was still often distracted by her giggles at the unintentional comedy she found in the script. I memorized all of them fairly easily before it was time to head to the theater, and as we headed for my rental car, I noticed my entire family was wearing their Sunday-best tie-dye as they piled into the Volkswagen Eyesore to follow us.
The community theater was an outdoor venue, a bold move for anyone running a business in the notoriously one-hundred-plus degrees part of the country. A small building sat behind the rows of folding chairs for customers to mingle, buy snacks and tickets, and go to the bathroom, while it also served as a “backstage” for actors to change costumes in. It was cobbled together out of planks of wood and sheets of steel, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Horace had told me he had welded it together himself. As I walked into the makeshift dressing room, the man himself was there to greet me.
“Assumin’ my uncle did his end of the bargain?” he asked.
“I thought he was your cousin?” I answered with a question of my own.
“You know how these extended families are, everybody knows they’re kin, but it takes a while to figure out how,” he said, and in my head the banjo chord from Deliverance began to play.
Horace fitted me into his vision of Barry McGoodGuy’s wardrobe. It was clear that Horace was projecting something of himself onto his character because the tight-fitting tank top and temporary tattoos he arranged on me were exactly what he was wearing at the moment.
Once I had finished putting on his clothes, he took a step back and appraised me.
“It’ll do,” he decided.
“Like looking in the mirror?” I asked as I tried not to roll my eyes.
“Welllll,” he said as he clicked his tongue. “You aren’t quite as dignified as the character, but that’s where I’m hoping your acting will come in.”
“Oh, I’ll do my best,” I said.
“You memorize your lines?”
“Yes,” I sighed. After memorizing all the information for the bar exam, it had been almost no effort to remember these far less complicated lines. It would be difficult to scrub all of this memorably campy and awful dialogue from my brain anytime soon.
I peeked through the door to the outside at the stage area. Rows and rows of metal folding chairs were arranged in neat little lines, and as the sun descended behind the mountains the sweltering temperatures would begin to drop. My family was already seated in the front row. Harmony had decided to stay home, since she felt that being in public as a murder suspect would be uncomfortable with whispers and stares from the crowd, but my parents, Vicki, and Phoenix took up four seats of the row closest to the nailed together planks of wood that vaguely represented a stage area. Vicki sat beside Phoenix and was reading through the folded up sheet of copy paper acting as the play program. I noticed AJ sitting alone in the back row, and I figured she was too shy to sit with Vicki and meet my family. Still, I was glad she showed up.
“One last thing, Henry,” Horace said.
“What’s that?” I asked as I turned back to face him.
“Don’t blow this for me,” Horace warned with a menacing look before he shuffled out onto the stage. As much as I had a hard time bringing myself to care about his campy play, I did owe the guy, so as much as the material would allow it, I intended not to blow this for him.
Horace climbed onto the rickety stage, and the fact that the wood supported his weight gave me confidence it could probably bear mine. He gave a very emotional appeal to the audience about how what they were about to see tonight was not just a play, but a statement from his soul that exposed him bare, and their viewing it was both utter humiliation and a profound honor to him.
Vicki already sat at rapt attention, but her mouth was already spread in a wide smile.
“Before we get started, does anyone have any questions about what they are about to see?” Horace asked, and I almost face palmed at the lack of theatre etiquette.
“Oh, yes!” Vicki shouted as she waved her hand in the air. “The program doesn’t have the name of the play. What should we call this masterful work?”
“I am calling it... Untitled,” Horace explained with a dramatic pause. “This play was so profound and personal, I could scarcely imagine distilling its themes and concepts into a simple phrase.”
“Ohhh,” Vicki said with a bit too much melodramatic awe, but the rest of the audience nodded sagely at his words.
Horace stepped off stage, making heavy footfalls on the ramshackle steps, and then the crowd clapped, hooted, and hollered at the empty stage. I heard the whoops and cheers of Bloodhound Bill in the crowd, and I took a deep breath to help steady my nerves.
Horace gave me a look that cut through me, and I took it as my cue to dart onstage. Now was the time to prove that I could have almost had an acting career once.
I ran out of the building and bounding over the stage steps, feigning breathlessness as I took centerstage.
“Why…” I panted, “...do I run?”
Despite the bright stage lights, I could see Vicki with her hands over her mouth in an attempt to hold back a squeal of delight.
“From the law man, from the tax man, from the man, I flee,” I monologued dramatically, and I saw Phoenix tap his chest with his knuckles. “But where? Where does this path lead? If it is to utter ruin, I wish to run no longer. I wish…” I fell to my knees, and the crowd gasped at the impact, “...to rest.”
The supporting actress, Linda, who I’d learned was the infamous wife of Nico from my first encounter with Horace, skipped merrily on to the stage, and pretended to be shocked to see me. She was fairly attractive but with a rather dated hairstyle. I briefly wondered if the Eighties hair was her normal style or if this was part of her character.
“Oh!” she gasped. “What’s this? A world-wearied traveler on the interstate highway of life?”
“Look not upon me,” I turned my head away from her. “I have seen too much, done too much, been too much.”
Linda knelt in front of me and angled herself so her pretty blonde face was emoting to the audience more than me.
“Look at me, then, weary traveler,” she grabbed my face with both of her hands, and I looked back at her meaningfully. “I am the goodness and light in this world, but you have been too broken to see it before.”
I took in her words with a pregnant pause. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation.
“I see it now,” I finally uttered.
Linda pulled my face close to hers and kissed me deeply. I returned the kiss with the appropriate amount of fervor I imagined Horace would deem acceptable to the arc of his character. Cheers and woos erupted for the excitable audience, and after counting to ten,
I gently pushed Linda away.
“No, it’s not right,” I lamented dramatically. “I cannot sully your purity in this manner.”
I glanced up at the crowd. Vicki’s delight had shifted into something different. Despite the fact that she knew from our rehearsals that this kiss was in the plot, her eyes were narrowed dangerously at my co-star.
“Perhaps it was the idea of my purity that soiled your purity!” Linda hopped to her feet and pointed a finger at me.
I scrambled away from her to the edge of the stage and spoke to the crowd as I addressed my character’s inner turmoil. I scanned the enraptured faces, lingered on the bemused expression Vicki wore, and stopped completely on a face I hadn’t expected to see.
Justin Pell had come to see the play.
He saw me notice him, and his whole body tensed. I could almost see a cartoonish bead of sweat form at his brow and hear a gulp sound effect play as he swallowed hard.
Linda was still monologuing behind me as I faced down Justin.
“The earth has cradled you since infancy and dropped you in your adolescence,” Linda mourned. “You upheld and honored me as an infallible Earth-mother, and I have let you fall to dust!”
The play continued like this for several more pages of script. Two other minor characters were introduced who were, as nearly as I could tell, intended to be emotional foils to Linda and me. After conveniently resolving their subplot, we reached the overwrought finale of this one act nightmare, and I had decided to throw everything I had into the performance like I was giving my closing arguments in an important trial.
I turned back toward Linda. “You treacherous wench!” I cried and pointed an accusing finger at Linda. “I can hardly bear to look on you any longer!”
“Wh--What do you mean?” Linda stammered. “Don’t you mean that I am all that you have ever sought, and you wish to look upon me all your days?”
“How can I look upon you when I hardly know you!” I cried. “I must ponder, must reflect. How can I know you are truly what I seek if I cannot even comprehend what you are?”
“Whatever do you mean, Barry?” she prompted. “I cannot hope to understand you when you’re like this.”
