Nine-tenths of the Law

by L. A. Witt

  Taking a deep breath to calm myself down, I said, “I’m having a hard enough time looking at myself in the mirror knowing that I was part of something that hurt him.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, it’s not like you did anything.”

  “No,” I said, willing myself to stay civil. “But I have this unfortunate thing called a conscience. Something you obviously lack.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped.

  “Good idea,” I said. “I won’t be. In fact, I think I’ll be leaving.” And I turned to do just that.

  “Christ, as if you’re the perfect man,” he snarled.

  I stopped in my tracks. Deep breath. Deep breath. Don’t lose it. He’s not worth it. Turning around, keeping what was left of my cool, I said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He leaned against the doorframe again, giving me a smug grin. “Don’t tell me you’ve never looked. Never thought about playing the field.”

  “And looking is the same as touching?”

  “So you’ve never touched?” He glared at me, a pointed, suspicious expression in his eyes as his brow pulled together. “Not once?”

  I rested a hand on the railing at the top of the stairs. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  He folded his arms across his chest again. “Guilty conscience?”

  “Jesus, Jake. I don’t have time to play mind games with you.” I put my hands up. “I have never cheated on you. Never.”

  “If you say so.” Jake knelt and picked up the key I’d dropped. He held it up. “Thanks for bringing this back.”

  Then he disappeared into his apartment.

  I stared at the door for a moment, wondering what the hell had just happened. Was he always this manipulative? Did he always find a way to turn things around on me?

  Shaking my head, I went down the stairs and got in my car. As I started the engine, I thought back to the last few fights we’d had. I tried to think of one-just one-that hadn’t ended with me apologizing, but couldn’t. Yet virtually every fight had started because of something that had upset me.

  And now he was even trying to turn his infidelity around on me.

  I cursed under my breath as I headed down the street, letting his apartment fade in the rearview. I still hated how this whole thing went down, especially knowing that Nathan had to get hurt, too, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t glad to have washed my hands of Jake.

  Chapter Seven

  Two weeks after I evicted Jake from my life, it was business as usual at The Epidauran. My feet were on the desk and a stack of invoices spread across my lap when Dylan came into the office and shut the door behind him.

  “It’s that time again,” he said.

  That was never a good sign. I groaned and sat up. “Do I want to know?”

  “Time to drop some dead weight.”

  “Huh?”

  “Claire.” He gestured with a file folder. “Got a trail of write-ups a mile long. She’s been warned.” He shook his head. “Nice kid, but she’s gotta go.”

  “Damn,” I said, sighing. “I thought she was doing better lately.”

  He shook his head. “Hasn’t been on time once in the last two weeks. Last Wednesday, she was almost an hour and a half late.”

  I blinked. “Really? Christ, I just talked to her about it again on Tuesday, too.”

  “Yep, I know,” he said. “Unless you think we need this kind of crap, it’s time for her to go.”

  “Shit.” I rubbed my temples. “Sounds like this is long overdue then. Not going to be pleasant.”

  “Never is, my friend,” he said. “Part of the job.”

  I sighed. “Whose turn is it?”

  “I had to fire Gavin.” He held the folder out to me. “It’s definitely your turn.”

  I put my hands up and shook my head. “Come on, I let Tanya and Paul go.”

  “Gavin cried,” he said. “Criers count as two.”

  I rolled my eyes. “We’re flipping a coin, then.” I fished a quarter out of a drawer and balanced it on my thumb. “Call it.”

  As I tossed the quarter into the air, Dylan said, “Tails.”

  The coin landed on the floor and we both craned our necks.

  George Washington’s face had never looked so smug.

  “Looks like you’re the lucky winner.” Dylan dropped the file into my lap.

  “Fuck,” I muttered. As much as we joked about it-behind closed doors and well out of earshot of employees, of course-both of us hated doing this. In fact, we were both pretty lenient and flexible with our employees, but for the last year, we’d been plagued with the tardy, the irresponsible and the insufferable.

  Claire Hill fell into both of the first two categories. Unfortunately, not the last. Those were the easiest to fire. In fact, I secretly found great satisfaction in booting certain people out the door if they were obnoxious enough. Not Claire, though. She was actually a very sweet girl, and we both liked her a lot.

  But this was a business.

  “What time does she come in today?” I asked over my shoulder as Dylan walked past.

  “Her shift starts in twenty,” he said. “So she’ll probably be here in forty.”

  I groaned. Knowing my luck, she’d be right on time today. The late ones were always on time the day we canned them. Always.

  Tossing the folder on my chair so that I wouldn’t lose it, I left the office to make my rounds before Claire showed up. Dylan usually holed up in the office during the day unless we were slammed, but I liked to check up on my employees to make sure they were on task. I didn’t pester them or try to micromanage them, but I knew the kinds of things they could get up to if left to their own devices for too long. I had, after all, done my time as a theatre employee. I’d probably invented half of the crap they pulled on me.

  But I didn’t get a chance to make my rounds this time: Just as I’d predicted, Claire was on time. In fact, she was almost fifteen minutes early. She walked into the lobby as I was passing through, so I figured I’d just get it over with.

  “Hey, Claire,” I said, just before she went into the back room.

  She turned around and smiled. “Hey, Zach. How’s it going?”

  “Good, good.” I dropped my gaze and cleared my throat. “Listen, after you clock in, would you mind coming by the office for a few minutes?”

  Her smile fell and so did something in my gut. She had to know. Most of the employees knew. They tried to keep it from Dylan and me, but we were well aware that an office summons at the beginning of a shift had been dubbed “the talk of shame” and the subsequent walk to the exit was “the walk of shame”.

  Claire swallowed and nodded. In a quiet voice, she said, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  I waited for her in the office. She took her time, but there was no sense getting upset with her. If she needed a few extra minutes to compose herself, knowing what waited for her, then I wasn’t going to deny her that.

  Besides, it gave me a few minutes to zone out and think of a certain broad-shouldered attorney that had been on my mind for the past two weeks. It was probably a good thing I didn’t have his phone number. Right or wrong, I wanted him again. I hadn’t had sex like that in, well, I’d never had sex like that. I wanted more, I wanted-

  “He’s gone,” I muttered to myself through clenched teeth. I tapped my heel on the desk and my thumb against the armrest, trying to do something with all this nervous energy. I needed to make my rounds, if only to give myself something to do other than think of Nathan.

  Come on, Claire, don’t leave me here with my thoughts. Firing her wasn’t going to be pleasant, but neither was pining after someone I couldn’t-and shouldn’t-have.

  I glanced at the clock. If I were you, I’d want to just get it over with. I leaned back in my chair and put both hands behind my head as I stared up at the ceiling. It occurred to me then that I’d told her to clock in first. Maybe she was milking the time clock for a few extra pennies before heading in here. I sat up and wa
s just about to head for the door when a faint, timid knock stopped me.

  “It’s open,” I said.

  The door opened and Claire appeared, eyes down and cheeks a little red. “Sorry I took a few minutes,” she said, closing the door behind her.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I sat up and rested my elbows on the desk. She looked at me and swallowed hard, probably noticing my more upright posture. Everyone here knew that I handled all but the most serious or formal discussions while kicked back with my feet on the desk. I’d once heard one of the guys ask another how bad an ass-chewing was. The response of “Zach sat up in his chair” nearly made him blanch.

  If Claire had had any doubt about why she was here, she probably knew by now. I gestured toward one of the chairs opposite my desk, and she sat.

  As I took a breath, she drew back slightly, probably bracing herself. Her eyebrows knitted together and her lips pulled into a grimace.

  “Listen,” I said. “I really hate to do this, but-”

  “You’re firing me?” she squeaked. I doubted she was really surprised. She knew it was coming, but now that it was actually happening, it threw her for a loop. Happened to most of the people I fired.

  “Claire, we’ve talked about this,” I said. “Dylan and I have both discussed the issue of lateness, and-”

  “But, I’ve been trying, I was-” She sniffed, wiping her eyes quickly. “Please let me-”

  “Claire,” I said as gently as I could. “We’ve been through this. I’ve changed your shifts, I’ve done everything I can to accommodate your scheduling conflicts, but…” I set the folder on the desk and folded my hands across it. “This just isn’t working.” Christ, why do I always sound like I’m breaking up with someone when I do this? I’m sorry, honey, it’s not you, it’s me. I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes at my own thoughts, which would have been cruel to Claire.

  “Maybe I could just work part-time,” she said quickly. “I’ve seen the schedules for the part-timers. Which would be easy for me to work around.”

  Ah, bargaining. Isn’t that the second stage of grieving? Or is it the third? That would mean that anger is next, I think. Anger or-

  “You guys let Dean and Jill come in late all the time,” she suddenly snarled through her tears.

  Yep. Anger. “That’s between us and them,” I said. “We handle issues with them privately, just like we do with you.”

  “So you’re firing them, too?” It wasn’t a question. It was sarcastic.

  “I can’t discuss anything about them with you any more than I can discuss this with them,” I said quietly. There was no point in getting angry with her. The poor kid was getting fired, which was humiliating and upsetting even if she had brought it on herself. She could vent, she could cry and she could take her last paycheck and leave.

  “This is bullshit,” she said, but her voice wavered to little more than a whimper, evaporating any venom she tried to inject into her words. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered, probably more to herself than me.

  “Claire, I’m sorry about this,” I said. “But I don’t have a choice at this point.” I pulled a couple of envelopes out of the folder and slid them across the desk. “These are your last two paychecks. Whatever we owe you from your time on the clock today, you can pick up on Friday or I’ll mail it to you.”

  She snatched the envelopes off the desk and stood, nearly knocking the chair over in the process. “Mail them to me. I don’t want to come back here.”

  I nodded, keeping my voice and expression neutral. “Is your address current?”

  Scowling, she looked at the address on the envelope and nodded sharply. “Yeah, it’s right.” She glared at me. “Is there anything else, or can I get the fuck out of here so I can find someone to hire me?”

  Without a word, I gestured toward the door and gave a single nod. Anything I said now would probably just come across as patronizing or otherwise rub salt in her wounds, so I said nothing. She turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

  As soon as she was gone, I let out a breath and leaned back in my chair, throwing my feet onto my desk as was my custom. I stared at the ceiling, waiting for that unsettled feeling to pass. Even when the person I was firing richly deserved it, it always left me unnerved and edgy, much like that lingering adrenaline rush after a fight with a boyfriend.

  Much like how I felt after I left Jake’s apartment the other night.

  And after my three-way confrontation with Jake and Nathan.

  My blood turned cold.

  Nathan.

  I sighed and rubbed my eyes as a shiver ran up my spine. A full two weeks had passed and my breath still caught every time I thought of him, which I still did in spite of my best efforts not to. Now that he was again on my mind, that uncomfortable edginess only got worse.

  I shifted in my seat, tapping my heel on the desk and wishing I could get Nathan, Claire and Jake out of my head. Sitting still was impossible, so I finally gave up and stood, heading for the door to seek refuge in mind-numbing busy work even though I knew damn well it wouldn’t do any good.

  Chapter Eight

  An hour or so later, my gut was still a ball of nerves after my conversation with Claire. Firing employees was part of the job, but it was one I’d never relished.

  Just trying to keep myself busy, I walked around the theatre, checking on everything else. The concession stand was well-stocked and had no immediate crises. The box office was running smoothly. I caught myself hoping the middle auditorium’s projector would break again, if only to give me something to do, but the damned thing worked perfectly.

  Dylan caught up with me as I made my fiftieth pass through the concession stand.

  “So how did she take it?” he asked, keeping his voice low so other employees didn’t hear.

  I shrugged. “As well as can be expected.”

  “Tears?”

  “Of course.” I grimaced. “God, I hate doing that.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But you…”

  He continued speaking, but I didn’t hear him, because when I glanced over his shoulder, my heart suddenly pounded loud enough to drown out his voice.

  Nathan.

  At first, he didn’t see me. He paused inside the front door, holding his ticket between his lips while his hands were busy arranging his credit card and receipt in his wallet. Then he put his wallet in his back pocket and looked at the ticket, glancing at the signs for the auditoriums as if to confirm where he belonged.

  Just before he headed toward the auditorium, he looked at me. Looked right at me. An uncertain grin pulled up one corner of his mouth and the sparkle in his eyes turned my knees to water.

  Then he disappeared from view.

  “Zach?” Dylan waved a hand in front of my face.

  I shook my head. “Sorry, sorry.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, laughing. “And you always tell me not to stare at the pretty ladies that come through the door, you dog.”

  I winked and clapped him on the shoulder. “Wasn’t looking at a pretty lady, Dylan.”

  “Uh-huh. You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, yes I do.” I bowed out of our conversation and headed toward the auditorium. There was no need to ask which film he was seeing. Only one screen was seating right now. The crowd was thin, given that it was a weekday matinee, so he’d be easy to spot.

  As I walked into the dark auditorium, I hesitated. I hadn’t imagined that look, had I? But if he really wanted to see me, why bother going into the movie? Unless he simply saw me with Dylan and wanted me to know he was here without drawing attention to himself.

  Taking a deep breath, I continued into the dark room. The short hallway spilled out near the front of the theatre, beside the stairs leading up to the higher seats. The Epidauran had stadium-style tiered seating, plus a few rows close to the front. I scanned the seats in front, but didn’t see him. I didn’t expect to; with the projector light in my eyes, I was damn near b
lind. My pause was to give him a chance to see me.

  I took the stairs two at a time, having long since memorized them in the darkness, and found a seat in one of the vacant back rows. And waited.

  With the high seat backs and minimal light, I couldn’t pick him out from the other patrons scattered throughout the small auditorium. My heart pounded, and I silently pleaded for him to come find me.

  Someone stood, but I knew immediately that it wasn’t him. Just someone heading to the concession stand or something, probably at the whim of the person with whom he exchanged sharp, terse whispers before storming out.

  The annoyed patron reappeared.

  Nathan didn’t.

  The rest of the lights went down.

  My heart rate didn’t.

  It was only when the previews had finished and the film started rolling that someone off to the far left stood. I caught his face in profile, with only the faintest hint of flickering light from the movie on the screen, and knew it was him. He paused, looking my way, probably letting his eyes adjust to confirm that it was me.

  Then he came up the steps and down my row. He sat beside me and we exchanged a quick look, his face unreadable in the low light. We both looked forward. I wondered if he was paying attention to anything on the screen. I sure as hell wasn’t. I couldn’t think of anyone or anything that had ever been able to divert my attention from a Bertolucci film, but at that moment, I could have been staring at a blank screen for all my ability to focus.

  I took a breath and caught a hint of smoke. My heart jumped. He said he only smoked when he was nervous, and I guessed his last cigarette was fairly recent. Probably on his way down the sidewalk to the theatre.

  I wanted to ask him why he’d come, why he was nervous, but I stayed quiet. Talking during movies was a huge pet peeve of mine-I’d thrown more than a few people out of The Epidauran for it-so I wasn’t about to disturb the other patrons.