“You really think that’s going to happen? Jack Hardly is going to side with you over me?”
“Already has.” Octavia turned to me. “You see, Mick, Pamela wanted to manufacture a situation where I appeared trapped. I’m guessing she was tired of riding my coattails. She’s a good lawyer, but I’m better. And she knew that there would be no promotions, no partnerships, none of it as long as she was under my thumb. True, Pamela had no idea that your wife would kill your girlfriend, of course. Still, she had some sources within the Metro police who called her once Stephanie had been wheeled away in a body bag. That was what convinced her to move when she did. The stock trading complaints were supposed to be much more elaborate, the focus of the real scheme. But with you under the gun, Mick, she saw all her dreams coming true. A case where she would lead the way rather than let me do the thinking for us both.”
I looked at Pamela. She rolled her eyes. “You’re free, aren’t you, Mick? Got any complaints?”
Octavia went on, “A successful murder defense and a big civil trial. She would’ve won, of course, because you were obviously innocent and she had set up all the evidence against me, simply so she could take it apart again bit by bit. My savior. Our savior. And the offers would fall like rain.”
Pamela stood and turned to her office windows, stood with her hands on her hips for a long time, her power suit soaking up the afternoon light. She finally said over her shoulder, “Jack’s really cutting me loose?”
“Once he saw our paperwork about how you’ve been basically a mouthpiece for me all these years. Instead of coming up with these brilliant defenses, we have notes after notes of meetings where I obviously told you the strategies—what to say, who to talk with, where we were strong or weak. In other words, I made you. And anyone I make, well, let’s just say I don’t want the student to become greater than the teacher.”
Pamela swirled, as angry as I’ve ever seen anyone. Shaking that finger, throwing her whole body into it.
“All we had to do last week was shoot down the deed and Mick would’ve had the house back. Simple. I could’ve handled that. But you had to turn it into fucking opera! And now look! People are dead! Lives are in shambles!”
Octavia sat serenely, hands now in her lap. “I only told the truth.”
“The fucking truth? The fucking truth is that you are a whore for attention. Anytime I’m about to do something great for you, here comes the Octavia train, smashing it all up. You love it. And I end up cleaning up your messes like an idiot. Not this time. I was going to show you why you needed me. I mean, Mick’s case was easy. He couldn’t kill a fart.”
I raised my hand. “Wait a minute.”
“He’s barely a man as it is, but you two…it’s creepy. Like some brother and sister sicko thing between you.”
Octavia finally stood, lifted her cane, and brought it down hard on the center of Pamela’s desk. The glass cracked and spider-webbed out. “When you land on your feet again, let me know and I’ll buy you a new desk. But I expect you to be disbarred, so you probably won’t need one for a while. Otherwise, I don’t believe we’ll speak again.”
She turned on her heel and started for the door. Jennings handed Pamela a thick sheaf of paper and said, “Just FYI. We’ve got plenty more, if you’re curious.” Then he shook her hand, smiled, and followed his boss out into the hall.
So it was me and an obviously shaken Pamela, the papers in her hand flapping uncontrollably until she threw them on the desk with a loud grunt. Stared at the floor while her nostrils flared in and out. And then she realized someone was watching. Lifted her head and saw me.
“What, Mick?”
I said, “Um, like, thanks, you know? For all you did for me.”
She let out a breath and looked away. “You didn’t do anything. To be honest with you, I was hoping you had.”
If that’s how she wanted to play it, then so would I. Nasty insult, where are you? Cutting wit, come back to me, please. But I barely got wind in me to speak when she said, “Fuck off out of here, Mick.”
I nodded. Sure, I could do that. And I did.
Jennings was waiting for me in the hall while Octavia spoke to Jack Hardly, one of the Senior Partners, who obviously enjoyed Octavia’s company as they seemed very at ease talking. He was a man in his sixties who looked forty. He owned three of Octavia’s favorite restaurants, and he sometimes rented Octavia’s secret Duluth cabin for weekend trysts no one else needed to know about. So if she wanted Pamela fired, it was a no-brainer.
Jennings whispered to me, “Didn’t see it coming?”
“How long have you—”
“Octavia figured it out while they were booking her for the marijuana, when the first complaint came in. Soon as she posted bond, she had me check with a couple of sources.”
“You guys have police sources?”
“Well, I used to date him. Bad break-up, but we’re good now.”
“But what about the stocks?”
He smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want her to explain it to you?”
“The gist.”
Jennings nodded at Octavia as she passed along a signal that she was ready. We went to hold the elevators as Hardly walked Octavia to the front door. “The people who made the complaints forgot who they were more afraid of. Until we reminded them of course.”
Once in the elevator, just the three of us, I curled into a ball on the ground.
“Get up, Mick. You’re embarrassing me,” Octavia said.
But I didn’t. Not until we were near the ground floor. Not until I could laugh about it. I picked myself up, giggled my way out into the lobby.
“What’s so funny?”
“She was right, you know. All you had to do was let Pamela squash the deed.”
Octavia hit me in the arm with her cane. I could feel the bruise on impact, reached for it. She took her sunglasses out of her handbag and snugged them on, done with tears and on to crushing the weak again.
She said, “I told you we would punish the bitch didn’t I?”
I stood speechless, rubbing my arm, as she and Jennings made their way to the front door, people all around staring at them as if she were some sort of wretched queen, able to curse them with a single glance. I mumbled under my breath, “Mirror, mirror on the wall…”
Octavia stopped, turned, and shouted, “Dinner at Manny’s to celebrate? Move your ass, Mick,”
I followed after them and sighed, knowing I would be a few steps behind.
Anthony Neil Smith is currently the Director of Creative Writing at Southwest Minnesota State University. He earned a Ph.D in English from the University of Southern Mississippi’s Center for Writers in 2002.
His first novel, Psychosomatic, was published by PointBlank Press in 2005, and was later translated into Swedish. It is also now available on Kindle and other e-formats. His second novel, The Drummer, was published by Two Dollar Radio in 2006. His third, Yellow Medicine, was published in 2008 by Bleak House Books. Yellow Medicine was one of January Magazine’s Top Crime Novels for 2007. The sequel, Hogdoggin’, was published in June of 2009. Smith has published over forty short stories in venues such as Murdaland, Exquisite Corpse, Bellevue Literary Review, Thug Lit, Natural Bridge, Crime Factory, Beat to a Pulp, Needle, Connecticut Review, and many others.
Dr. Smith is co-creator and editor of the internet noir zine Plots with Guns, which attracts a wide audience from both the crime fiction and literary arenas. Stories from PWG have been featured in Best American Mystery Stories, and one was nominated for an Anthony Award in 2003
You can find him at:
anthonyneilsmith.typepad.com
twitter.com/docnoir
plotswithguns.com
kit-filter: grayscale(100%); -moz-filter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
Choke on Your Lies Page 27
