Hard Bitten

by M. K. York

  “I, uh, let me see. A good case... Oh Lord, I have one. It’s not really funny but it is kind of funny.”

  “Hit me.”

  “I had a client who came to me because they were afraid the CIA was bugging their house.”

  “O...kay.”

  “I know, I know. More of my clients than you might think are just straight-up paranoid. I feel weird about it, and I don’t take the work if I feel like I can’t at least reassure them.”

  “So is the punch line that they really were?”

  “No, the punch line is that they weren’t, but when I was on a stakeout outside his house, I realized he had a neighbor who was totally watching him. Binoculars out the window and everything.”

  Mark blinked at him in wide-eyed dismay. “That’s very creepy.”

  “I know!”

  “What did you do? Did you tell him?”

  “I didn’t want to, I was afraid of how that was going to go down. So I just went and knocked on their door.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did. I told them who I was, and I didn’t get into who’d hired me or anything but I said while I was in the neighborhood I’d noticed them.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t get murdered.”

  “I know. In hindsight I’m so lucky I’m not being worn as a skin-suit right now.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Oh my God. It was this little old man. He got so mad I’d caught him. He kept going on and on about how this guy was a communist.”

  “... Was he?”

  “I don’t know! It was still weird!”

  “So he wasn’t going to stop?”

  “No. So I told the client, after all. He took it very well. He said he appreciated knowing who was watching him, and then he said he was going to move.”

  “I don’t blame him. Do you know if he did?”

  “Nah, I don’t know. I hope he did. I hope he got a shrink.”

  “Christ, if I had a nickel for every time I’ve thought that about a client.”

  “You get your fair share of people with mental health issues?”

  “Oh God, yeah. They end up in the system all the time. And if they come through once, they’re fucked, you know? Now they’ve got a record and they’re still crazy, so it’s not like they’re going to be in good shape when they get out, and they can’t afford therapists or meds. So. That’s fun.” Mark made a sour face, taking another long drink of his wine.

  “Ugh.” Lukas sighed. “Yeah. More wine?”

  “Not yet.” Mark squinted into his glass, which was still half-full, and then looked back and stared, fixated on something across the room. “What the hell is Katie wearing?”

  Lukas looked in the same direction. “It’s... I mean, I’d call those antennae.”

  “Why are they lighting up like that?”

  “LEDs?”

  Mark was making a complicated and incredulous face. “After she lectured me about looking professional!”

  “What, did she have a problem with your sweater? It looks fine to me.”

  “What? No. She lectured me before the party. I mean, look at her!”

  “At least she ditched the boa?”

  “Is there something wrong with my sweater?” Mark looked down at himself. “Is it the cords? I wasn’t sure what to wear with it, I haven’t actually worn this one before. It was a graduation present.”

  “I thought it looked like cashmere.”

  “It is. It’s so soft! Here, feel.” Mark stuck out his arm, and Lukas patted it gingerly, vividly aware that he was reliving a near-identical scene from when he’d been a teenager and a girl had (he’d later discovered) been trying to flirt with him.

  “It’s very soft.”

  “I feel like Katie set me up. She told me not to wear a suit.” Mark nodded at Lukas’s clothes. “You’re, like one step away, and a lot of these people are wearing suits.”

  “I think your clothes are fine for this.”

  “Good. Christ. I’m not used to this.” Mark frowned at the room. “Networking. It makes me feel like an asshole every time I say it.”

  Lukas laughed, surprising himself. “Well, for what it’s worth, it’s probably a good idea.”

  “Of course it is. I know that. I know all the reasons why I need to shake a lot of hands and probably catch the flu.” Mark shrugged, taking another sip of wine. “I just feel like a fraud. No big.”

  “What, a fraud? How?”

  “Like I don’t know what’s going on and any minute somebody’s going to realize that and take it all away from me.” Mark stretched his neck, rolling his head through a slow circle. “The usual.”

  “Damn,” said Lukas slowly. “That sounds kind of awful.”

  “It is. But it’s not rare. I mean, a lot of us feel the same way. We laugh about it.”

  “I guess that’s one benefit of being in this business. I never really feel like I’m underqualified. It’s so weird it’s like I could never be fully qualified for all the shit I see, you know?”

  “I guess.” Mark’s mouth tilted up at one corner. “I don’t really know.”

  “Hey, if you sucked at your job they wouldn’t be having you work with Lena.”

  “It’s true, I know. I don’t suck at it. I just feel like I’m clueless, all the time. In over my head.” Mark took another drink. “But at least there’s wine.”

  “And cheese. You want some?” Lukas held out his plate. Mark stared at it for a few seconds, then grabbed a cracker and dug it into the corner of what was left of the Brie.

  “Life is short,” Mark said around a mouthful of cheese. “Eat the free stuff.”

  “Not a bad motto.”

  “Shit. Okay. I have to go talk to that woman over there, she’s one of the partners at one of the best criminal defense firms in the city. They even have a satellite office down in Tacoma.”

  “Go get ’em, tiger.” Lukas shoved his shoulder gently.

  Mark laughed, glancing back. “Aye, aye, cap’n.”

  Lukas very discreetly flipped him the bird, which just made Mark laugh harder, and then Mark was wandering off across the room, steady-eyed again.

  He’d been there for a while. He could probably leave. He looked around for Katie, to say goodbye.

  *

  By the time Mark noticed Lukas was gone, he’d met at least four more people, shaken hands, answered the same basic questions (graduated this year; very excited to be working with the Department; not sure about future plans but keeping an open mind) and made the same basic jokes.

  It was a shame that Lukas had left. He was more fun than most of the other people there. Hard to miss, with his height and that light, light hair, like a big glowing ghost.

  Mark shrugged on his coat and walked out into the air, chill and still a little damp around the edges.

  He was seized by a moment of—something, on his way to the station. He texted Lukas, Good party.

  it wasn’t bad

  I’ll keep you posted on the case

  good

  Then he got to the station, the lights slowly churning through different colors—pink, purple, blue, neon lighting up the night. He stepped into the elevator that took him deep underground, into the tunnel. He didn’t get the next text until the train surfaced on its way into SoDo.

  hope you got more cheese

  Not really. Took a cupcake though

  good for you

  You were right. Little dry

  and too sweet

  Yeah, too sweet

  Then the train dipped back into the next tunnel, and when he surfaced again in Capitol Hill, there were no new messages. He hummed tunelessly to himself as he followed the escalators up to the surface, emerging next to the park. There were drunk people in costumes everywhere, some wearing more clothes than others, a sizable proportion of them wearing onesies. There was a lot of jubilant whooping, and a couple making out against a lamppost as he walked by.

  It was home. It was good.
>
  He made his way up the stairs to his apartment, listened for a few minutes to the occasional bursts of loud chatter and cheering on the street below, and eventually turned on his white noise machine and lay down without getting completely undressed.

  The sweater was very soft. Dylan had always had good taste. He fell asleep with his nose tucked into the neckline.

  Chapter Eight

  The day of the preliminary hearing came, unfortunately, long before Mark was really prepared for it.

  Lena was ready to go. Lena was a battle-ax, sharp and bloody-minded. They’d talked to their client multiple times before the actual day. Lena had talked to the DA about the possibility that the corporation had some issues, and that the widow’s alibi wasn’t great, and that the cops who’d pulled her over were questionable at best, and the DA had apparently said, Sure, sure, but we’re still confident it was your client. No slam dunks, no home runs.

  If they’d been sure she was guilty, this would have been a pretty good time for her to plead out. And the deal the DA was offering wasn’t terrible. Ten years, compared to twenty-five to life if she was convicted.

  But she sat across from Lena and Mark in the interview room and stared them right in the eyes, in turn. “I didn’t kill Greg. I didn’t set the fire.”

  And Lena had nodded, slow and serious. “Then don’t take the plea deal.”

  So the date came. Mark technically had Veterans Day off before it, but he went in to the office anyway. He read and reread all the documentation they had on the case, triple-checked the files they’d gotten through discovery, verified that he’d put in all the motions he’d been responsible for. There was nothing new there, but he’d known that. He needed to be sure.

  On the morning of the hearing, Lena pinched him, viciously, on their way into the courtroom.

  “Ow!” he hissed at her.

  “Don’t look like you’re facing a firing squad,” she said, without really moving her lips. “This is the prelim, stakes aren’t that high, we both know she’s going to stay in jail until the trial. Just live through it.” With her hair pulled back into a tight bun and her black skirt suit, low, sensible black heels, she looked calm and collected in a way Mark could only hope to aspire to.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered nastily.

  But Lena was right. There shouldn’t be much to say at this hearing beyond Not guilty. The DA, John Dauer, was handling it personally. At the prosecutor’s table, he cut a dashing figure: graying hair, heavy-framed glasses, a trim suit. Someone had nicknamed him Jack Bauer after Kiefer Sutherland’s character on 24, because there was a definite resemblance, especially when he talked. Dauer ambled over to them before the judge got to the bench.

  “Still sure about the plea deal?” Dauer sounded remarkably amiable and composed. Meanwhile, Mark was pretty sure he was sweating right through his undershirt and button-up.

  “If we weren’t, you’d have heard about it,” Lena replied calmly. Mark envied her poise.

  “Just wanted to check.” Dauer nodded up at the bench. “Judge Franklin can be pretty brief about these,” he added to Mark. Lena just rolled her eyes.

  “We’re still planning on just setting a trial date.”

  “Okay, but that’s a lot of money and jail time!” Dauer said a little too brightly as he headed back to his table. “See you in court in the spring!”

  Judge Franklin had gotten settled. She called the case, shouting out the number, and then there were the magic words: “State v. Carville.” He’d heard it hundreds of times, but this time in particular it sent a chill up his spine.

  Next to him, Gina was white as a sheet. Without a jury, there was no point in letting the defendant wear street clothes, so she was in her bright orange jail gear. It made her look sallow, almost green.

  “All right, Counsel,” said Judge Franklin matter-of-factly. “My understanding is that both parties were amenable to setting a trial date. Is that correct?”

  “It is, Your Honor,” Dauer said.

  “Actually,” said Gina.

  Mark and Lena turned to stare at her in synchronized horror. Judge Franklin frowned, and Dauer’s head whipped around.

  “A moment to confer with my client, Your Honor.” Lena grinned with obviously gritted teeth.

  “Of course. A moment.”

  “What the hell, Gina!” hissed Lena under her breath. “We talked about this!”

  “It’s just.” Gina looked like she wanted to throw up. “A trial. And it might be life.”

  “If you did it, you should take the deal!” Lena was inches from shooting steam out her ears. “If you didn’t, you should wait for the trial!”

  “I didn’t! I told you I—”

  “Look,” Mark chimed in, voice carefully low, “the things we talked about before are all still true. If the State had a better case against you, we would have advised you to take the deal. As it is, there are still investigatory options we’re pursuing that might yield reasonable doubt. Do you want to commit to ten years in prison? I want you to think about that, carefully.”

  She paused, looking back and forth between their faces, starting to tear up again.

  Judge Franklin droned, “Does the defendant wish to change her plea?”

  For a moment, Mark’s heart was in his throat.

  Gina choked out, “No. N-not guilty.”

  “Very well,” said Judge Franklin, and she set the trial date. “Next time,” she added meaningfully, “you may want to be a little better prepared for that kind of question.”

  Lena managed a smile, but it made Mark’s face hurt to look at it, it was so full of pinched rage. “Of course, Your Honor.”

  Dauer was looking at them speculatively.

  *

  Mark texted Lukas to keep him up to speed. Preliminary hearing over. I might pass out don’t do that, you finished the hard part

  The hard part is just starting!

  sorry. I don’t know how these things work

  Trial date is set for next March. Mark sighed, scrubbing at his face. March was simultaneously a long way away and much too soon. They’d have to have everything ready, the investigations completed, the motions in, the arguments prepared. And Lena might have had decades of experience with this, but Mark hadn’t.

  is she in jail the whole time?

  Yeah. It was probably why she’d freaked out at the hearing. Clients did not like jail, and Mark had seen more than one take a shitty plea deal to get out a little sooner.

  ugh

  Agreed

  you sound bummed

  I am bummed. She damn near gave me a heart attack

  what did she do?

  Almost changed her fucking plea at the last fucking minute. The literal last minute that sounds fun

  FUN. FUN. I CAN’T, he said, flailing at the buttons and producing a series of keysmashes that included an angry emoji and, for some reason, a bunch of grapes.

  you should relax.

  I WOULD LOVE TO BUT THAT IS NOT HAPPENING RIGHT NOW

  me and the guys are catching a movie tomorrow. you could come if you wanted.

  Maybe, when?

  tomorrow night, 7ish.

  OK, I’m in. As long as stuff blows up.

  I think explosions are on the menu.

  Perfect.

  *

  Lukas was an idiot.

  Lukas was a moron. Lukas wasn’t thinking. What the fuck had Lukas done.

  Mark didn’t need to see a movie. Mark didn’t need to meet the guys. Holy fucking shit what was going to happen when Mark met the guys? Mark was from work, and work stayed separate from not-work for a reason, for multiple reasons, good reasons. Work had to be a different thing than his personal life. He didn’t want to get the two mixed up. Katie’s party had been bad enough. Mark had probably been planning on getting, whatever, yuppie fucking brunch with some of his classy, educated friends from the office or school, and they’d sip fancy cocktails and talk about philosophy and how they’d been nobly defending the
defenseless, and instead Mark was coming here. Mark was going to meet the guys and they were going to be themselves and Mark was going to take one look at them and know, just know, that they were the exact kind of morons who would— Lukas paced in front of the movie theater with the same degree of unbearable anxiety he’d been feeling for the last roughly thirty-six hours, and Frank bellowed, “Hey, Lukas! Lou!”

  He turned around. Frank was wearing a T-shirt that said, I like my beer like I like my women: free!

  Oh for fuck’s sake.

  “Buddy,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face. “Good to see you. Where’s Nick?”

  At least Alex—overly perceptive Alex—wasn’t along for this one.

  “He’s coming in a minute.” Frank squinted at the box office. “We all got our tickets, right? You want me to get some popcorn?”

  “God, yeah, that’d be great. I’m starving.” Lukas dug a couple of bucks out of his pocket. “And a bag of Skittles?”

  “No prob, man.” Frank grinned and headed into the theater.

  Nick and Mark got there at roughly the same time. Mark looked up at the facade through the twilight, taking in the beautiful neon sign. “Historic building? Nice!”

  “Yeah,” said Lukas. “Frank’s getting popcorn. Nick, did you want anything? I think he might still be in line.”

  “Ooh, is he? Tell him to get me popcorn.” Mark leaned over, peering through the window into the better-lit interior. “I don’t know which one he is.”

  “I’m texting him.”

  Nick said, “Tell him I want Milk Duds.”

  “Gross, nobody likes Milk Duds.” Mark made a face.

  “I do!” Nick flipped Mark off casually. “I’m Nick, in case you hadn’t guessed.”

  “Oh, right. I’m Mark, I work with Lukas.”

  “Are you a PI too?”

  “Nah, I’m a public defender.”

  “That’s cool!” Nick looked genuinely interested. Lukas regretted ever having been born.

  “We should probably go in,” Lukas said in what he hoped didn’t sound like desperation.