The Virgin Whore Trial: A Holly Park Legal Thriller

by Brad Chisholm

  The Virgin Whore Trial

  A novel by

  Brad Chisholm & Claire Kim

  ~

  A Holly Park Legal Thriller

  This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by William Bradley Chisholm and Claire H. Kim

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published by Roxbury Park Publishing

  3600 Wilshire Blvd. Suite 1220

  Los Angeles, CA 90010

  WGA West Registration:1701862

  Cover design and Photography by Brad Chisholm

  About The Virgin Whore Trial

  Los Angeles, heir to Rome in its decline, badly needed a distraction that summer. Even Hollywood was not enough, so now it would be the sensational murder trial of Naomi Linser.

  When Naomi is photographed being handcuffed and shoved rudely into the back of a police car wearing a bloody sequined dress, Los Angeles instantly chooses sides and places its bets.

  Virgin?

  Whore?

  Murderess?

  Victim?

  ~

  About Holly Park

  Holly Park is a young Los Angeles attorney who quits a big downtown firm to go on her own. Clients are hard to come by, so when a handsome business man with a frightening scar on his throat hands her a photo and a stack of cash to find a beautiful young woman, she doesn’t ask too many questions. That was her first mistake.

  The deeper Holly digs, the darker the secrets become, leading finally to an explosive front page murder trial that traps Holly in a terrible dilemma. If she tells the truth, her client goes to prison for life. If Holly keeps the secret, her client may go free, but she will be betraying the man who hired her and who has become her lover...

  About the Authors

  Claire H. Kim is a Los Angeles based attorney born in Seattle, Washington.

  Highlights of her career include Federal cases involving alien smuggling, human trafficking, document fraud and financial crimes. She has appeared in Federal and state courts in Los Angeles, Seattle, Hawaii, San Diego, Arizona and New York. She specializes in cases involving the removal of criminal aliens and sex crimes.

  ~

  Brad Chisholm is a retired advertising creative director who has produced award winning campaigns for print and television. He is currently developing creative projects for publishing and animation. He was born in Toronto, Canada and resides in Los Angeles.

  Chapter 1

  Like snow, the night sky does not discriminate in what it will or will not cover. The streetlights above and the flashing squad cars below intruded into the private office of the Phoenix nightclub. Nothing was concealed, from the mahogany desk where the Dumok sat, to the little drops of moisture forming on the forehead of a slight man who stood, with his head bent, next to an astonishingly beautiful and exquisitely dressed young woman.

  She was a doehme (helper), seeking kiting money, a loan, an advance against the house. She called herself Cinnamon, though it was clearly not her true name.

  The flashing squad car lights rhythmically changed the doehme’s gown from gold to red and back again. The slinky fabric clung to the swell of her ripe curves revealing her surgically enhanced breasts to three other men in the room. The slight nervous man wiped his forehead with a starched white handkerchief. He had arranged this meeting. His credibility was on the line. Cinnamon had shocked even him by asking for for fifty thousand dollars, an extraordinary sum, more than double the usual advance.

  Why so much? The Dumok wondered absently. The only movement in the room was a flick of the Dumok's eyes as the red lights flashed, exposing the doehme's cleavage one moment, and hiding it the next, the high slit up the front of her gown exposing her shapely thighs, pale and erotic above her black lace stockings. This one wore very expensive shoes with thin black leather straps that inevitably made you think of sex. It was just bad luck that this time her beauty would work against her.

  Mix was the personal bodyguard of the Dumok. He had the physical strength of three men. He had been with the Dumok from the beginning and was fiercely loyal. He stood now in the shadows, and watched his boss out of the corner of his eye. He had a bad feeling about this Cinnamon girl. She looked like the girl in the photo which the Dumok kept buried deep in the right hand drawer of his desk. Mix had seen it once but that had been a long time ago. He didn't need to see it again. The girl in the photo had a face you could never forget.

  The third man in the room was called the Enforcer and he was large and thick and his body was covered in tattoos, including one on his face. He was much quicker than he looked though not so smart.

  It was said the Dumok was the most ruthless man in Koreatown. Of course the Dumok attracted rumors, the currency of whispers, because known facts about him were few. The Dumok was like that. He had the protection of the streets as well as the protection of the politicians. Even the whispers protected him. That and the fear.

  The Dumok motioned slightly with his finger toward the bar. Cinnamon hurried over to pour him a drink, the scent of expensive perfume trailing behind her. She poured a Cognac and walked over to the Dumok and held the snifter out with one hand, the other slender hand slightly holding her wrist in the deferential way of the doehmes. She looked up just as the flashing light outside cast a red hue on the Dumok's face exposing an ugly disfigurement. The sight of it made her hand tremble causing the Cognac to ripple. Only two men knew how the injury had occurred, and one of them was dead.

  The Dumok studied the trembling girl. His face was a mask. Her resemblance to Nara Song, a woman whose memory still tortured him, was remarkable and unfortunate.

  The Dumok stood and walked across the room to the safe where he removed five bundles of cash, fifty thousand dollars wrapped in treasury bands. Cinnamon smirked inwardly. She would get her price. Even the Dumok was just a man and she was an expert at working men. It was just her bad luck that the Dumok turned just in time to catch the smirk. He paused, then casually removed the treasury bands one at a time, slowly. He threw the money into the air like it was confetti and watched as the hundred dollar bills fluttered to the ground to form a thick green carpet at his feet. He then took the Cognac from her hand and poured it on the ground beneath him as if he were pouring chocolate sauce on a banana split.

  If it took Cinnamon and fifty grand to get him to do something he should have done a long time ago, so be it. The Dumok opened the desk drawer and pulled out the photo of Nara Song and slipped it into his breast pocket and walked out. Mix followed.

  Outside the door, the Dumok turned to Mix. "Call this number," the Dumok said, handing over a slip of paper. "I want to see this lawyer tomorrow morning.” Mix looked down. Holly Park. A female lawyer. And Korean.

  “Yes, boss.” Mix did not let his surprise show.

  Back inside the office, the room was weighed heavily with silence. The muffled loud music from the nightclub was punctuated by a thud when the Enforcer walked across the room to the desk and knocked the empty snifter onto the ground, followed by the sound of crunching glass as the Enforcer broke the glass into crystal shards with his heavy boot.

  Cinnamon looked over at the slight man, the broker who had brought her here. Do something, her eyes blazed. But the man stood, his frame hunched forward, his eyes downcast and his hands folded humbly before him.

  "Please," Cinnamon begged, clasping her hands and moving her body in that way of t
he doehmes when they wanted something from a man.

  Stupid girl. The slight man thought. Just – shut - up.

  "On your hands and knees.” The Enforcer said thickly. Cinnamon put her hands on her hips in surprise and indignation. She was not used to this type of treatment from any man.

  "Don’t you want your money?” He sneered. Nobody moved.

  With a bob of her head and a flutter of her eyelashes, Cinnamon slowly dropped to her knees, her long black hair cascading forward like a veil. The Enforcer leaned back and watched her. Doehmes. They were all greedy, but this one was arrogant , too. She needed to be taught a lesson. It was his job to protect the Dumok from these girls. Word would get around. The other doehmes would think twice before asking for so much kiting money.

  She worked steadily, Cinnamon did, her small, cupped hands staining the hundred dollar bills with thin red lines as she gathered the bills into small mounds. The Enforcer glanced at his watch. It was still early. Koreatown was just waking up.

  Chapter 2

  A large graphic of a beautiful girl with her lips painted red in a half smile welcomed the stream of drivers at Wilshire Boulevard and Western Avenue, the unofficial border of Koreatown. Other colorful wraps and giant billboards covered the rich collection of historical buildings dotted with advertisements for soju or Korean brands of beer. On the streets, storefronts featured with Korean signs and menus for $3.99 breakfast specials. A visitor might not even know they were in America.

  The streets of were filled with people shielding themselves from the relentless sun. Pedestrians managed with baseball caps and sunglasses or by holding up magazines and newspapers. Women wore over-sized visors or carried umbrellas to find relief from the early morning heat.

  Holly Park banged at the elevator button in the front lobby. The elevators were still broken. She was still irritated by the smell of the old ketchup wafting in the still air and the sight of the fresh footprint in the stale French fries littering the stairwell of the parking garage.

  Someone had kicked a drink cup down the stairs. The fries and old ketchup packet had been there all week. The discarded cup was new. Yesterday, the fries had been on the top of the landing but someone had kicked them to the bottom steps. Holly carefully stepped over the mess when her cell phone rang.

  "Your 9 a.m. appointment cancelled. They’ve hired another lawyer." It was Mi Rae, her receptionist.

  "Why?" Holly asked.

  "They hired a Jewish lawyer, plus they said they didn’t want a woman. Or a young one," Mi Rae clucked. Holly sighed, exasperated.

  Holly banged at the elevator button. She was twenty-seven, exotic yet decisively American. She had a toned body from regular hours at the gym, with long dark hair, fair skin and full lips that easily broke into a smile. Not that she was smiling now. The air conditioning in the office building was broken and the moisture was forming under her clothes and sticking to her skin.

  Holly sighed impatiently. It was a long step down from the days of working in a fancy downtown law firm. The dirty parking structure was a daily reminder. She had made an impulsive decision to leave the firm followed by a quick, painful descent to the wrong side of town.

  It was the stairs again. Inside the stairwell, she caught up with an older lawyer, Johnny Gee, who was dragging a tired rolling briefcase up the stairs.

  "Good morning," Holly said cheerfully. "It's a good work out, these stairs."

  "Morning," Johnny Gee grimaced. He was less sanguine than Holly about the stairs. "That was quite a verdict on that wrongful death case of yours," he whistled. "Twenty five million dollars. I imagine you got a nice piece of it,” he added.

  Word traveled fast. Holly just smiled politely without answering and sprinted passed him. Minutes later, out of breath and sticky, she bent over to pick up the newspaper and loose flyers underneath the door and pushed it open.

  "You're supposed to pick these up when you come in," Holly said lightly, handing Mi Rae the pile.

  "Just put them there," Mi Rae said, not looking up as she picked at her breakfast. Holly opened her mouth to say something then bit her tongue, reminding herself as she did every day that she was no longer downtown, but subletting on the cheap in K-Town.

  "Did my client drop off documents this morning?" Holly asked, but knew the answer. The smell of deep fried oil lingered in the air. Her client owned a breakfast café.

  "Yes. The papers are in your room," Mi Rae said.

  “Office. It’s an office. Not a room,” Holly corrected. Mi Rae ignored the comment. "Can I ask you something?" she said, her eyelashes fluttering with gossipy enthusiasm.

  "Sure." Holly bristled inwardly. Mi Rae was so intrusive.

  "Did you get fired – like from your last job?" Mi Rae asked. "This entire building is full of lawyers who are only solo because they can't get jobs, so why would anyone quit to work here?”

  Holly braced herself. Mi Rae was always so rude and intrusive. Like she was being now. Mi Rae looked up expectantly but Holly remained firm. She had yet to break her silence as to why she had left Stowe, Hubbell and Burg and she was not about to spill the beans to Mi Rae.

  "I didn't get fired. I quit," Holly answered matter-of-factly.

  "You would have been better off staying downtown if you're husband hunting, you know," Mi Rae glanced at Holly. "Everyone knows the guys who are the best husband material work downtown."

  Holly offered nothing more hoping Mi Rae's interest in her breakfast would win out over trying to elicit gossip.

  "You know, you're not getting any younger," Mi Rae added, hoping to provoke a response.

  Holly laughed, refusing to rise to the bait. She turned to walk to her office.

  “Oh,” Mi Rae chirped. “Someone called to make an appointment for the Dumok. He’ll be here in an hour.” Mi Rae was unable to hide the admiration in her voice. “How do you know the Dumok?”

  Holly looked down at the phone message slip. "I have no idea who this is."

  "How could you not know who the Dumok is? Everyone in town knows about him!" Mi Rae exclaimed.

  “Except me,” Holly said, shaking her head.

  "Then why is the Dumok coming to see you? Mi Rae mused. "Maybe he saw you on the news!" There was a twinge of envy in her voice.

  It had been a fluke that Holly made the evening news. It was the largest jury award against the city of Los Angeles in the city’s history. On the day the jury verdict was announced a news reporter caught Logan Burg and Holly leaving court. The clip made its way onto the wire services and Holly’s face had appeared on news channels all over California.

  "Really, Holly," Mi Rae sighed, "Don’t you know anything? Everyone knows who the Dumok is! The Dumok is the 'Boss' in K-town. He owns all the room salons, karaoke bars, spas, and nightclubs on this side of town.”

  Holly shook her head. Her experience of Koreatown was limited to Korean barbecue. Mi Rae laughed. She enjoyed having one up on Holly and turned away, not offering anything more. Instead, she used her free hand to scroll through a shoe sale on her monitor screen. "You really should learn to speak Korean, too, if you are planning to work here," Mi Rae sniffed.

  A cheap shot, but true. Holly was a transplant. Koreatown was not her true north. She, like other Angelenos, saw this part of town as a thoroughfare leading east towards downtown or west to the Santa Monica pier. Koreatown. It was the last place Holly had expected she would end up.

  Holly went into her office and flipped on the light. She had a view of the building across the street, an almost new computer, and two 1940's oak client chairs with curved backs across from her desk. Most importantly, she had business cards that read: Holly H. Park & Associates, Attorney-at-Law. The associates were somewhere in the future. Holly sighed and looked around. Had she jumped ship too quickly?

  Chapter 3

  “He said to remember you by your legs,” a voice boomed at Holly. It was the lobby security guard. He smiled, a twinkle in his voice.

  “Who said that!?”

&nbs
p; It had been a twist of fate. Holly had started interviewing right after law school, and an interview at a different law firm in the same building had gone badly. Holly's only concern was whether she had enough money to get out of the parking lot when she heard the voice and looked up. It was the building security guard.

  "Remember that girl, because she's going to work for me one day. That's what he said.”

  "Who said that!?" Holly asked again, taken aback.

  "Logan Burg. He's the top dog on the 30th floor. He's got an eye for the ladies.

  "Then can you please let me up to his floor?" Holly asked, impulsively. The security guard winked and conspiratorially waved goodbye as the elevator door shut and Holly rode up to the secure floor. The door swooshed open. Holly paused a moment outside the etched glass door that read:

  Law Offices of Stowe, Hubbell & Burg

  She pushed the door open and went inside.

  "I would like to see Logan Burg, please," Holly announced. A moment later, Holly followed Robin, an attractive secretary, through a hushed maze of busy cubicles and small associate offices. Holly breathed inward, intimidated by the surroundings. Robin stopped in front of the corner office and gestured. Holly took a deep breath and walked in.

  "I thought I should come introduce myself since you said I'd be working for you some day," Holly announced bravely, smiling. "I'm Holly Park. Here is my résumé.”

  Logan Burg was the managing partner. He was in his early fifties and handsome. He had a light tan from regular golfing, sharp blue eyes, a hawk's nose and thick hair cut short. His suit was dark gray with a subtle texture, his shirt the palest blue behind a maroon tie with a tiny gray repeating pattern. He swiveled around his chair and stared.