Legally Wasted

by Tommy Strelka

  Eventually, he met Trevor. His friend had insisted on driving his James Bond car, but Larkin refused. This was his life on the line after all.

  Now, as the green glow of the digital keypad seemed to grow brighter and brighter with each passing second, all he could do was think of the law. It was a defense mechanism, something almost as automatic as a reflex. When cornered in court, his mind would race through the law. He found that when he mentally recited the elements of the crime du jour, his nerves calmed. A strange mantra perhaps, but it had worked before. Larkin never attended law school. His legal education had been boiled down to passing a test.

  “Did you forget the code?” asked Trevor. The cicadas hummed so loudly, Trevor had to raise his voice to be audible. He drummed his fingers against the dashboard. During the forty minute moonlit drive from Big Lick, Trevor had actually sung along to a few tunes on the radio. He seemed to regard home invasion like other men regarded going to a barbecue. “Come on,” he whined. “Let’s get in there.”

  Larkin had not forgotten the pass code that Anthony had divulged. In fact, those particular buttons on the keypad glowed the brightest.

  “Breaking and entering,” Larkin finally said. “That’s a class three felony. Minimum is five years, max is twenty.”

  Trevor lunged across Larkin’s seat in an attempt to reach the keypad. Larkin pushed his arm away. “Come on!” snapped Trevor. “He might have cameras on us right now.”

  “He doesn’t,” said Larkin. “Anthony said there was no video surveillance.”

  “Yeah, well then why are we waiting here for the local Sheriff to drive by and ask some questions? Come on, Larkin.” Trevor reached into his pocket and withdrew a large buck knife. The blade was still tucked in the sheath. Moonlight reflected off of Trevor’s face and Larkin knew instantly that Trevor was just waiting for the perfect moment to use the knife.

  “Burglary with a deadly weapon,” said Larkin. “That will get you life.”

  “Jesus, Larkin. Is it even breaking and entering when you know the code to the damn door?”

  “I . . .” Larkin chomped on his lip again. “I don’t know,” he finally answered.

  “Remind me to never hire you again.” He flipped the knife around his fingers and sighed about as loudly as one could. “We agreed on this Larkin. The whole plan. It’s the best way out for you.”

  “Agreed,” repeated Larkin. “That’s criminal conspiracy, its own separate charge.”

  “Knock it off. I knew we should have taken my car.”

  “Just give me a minute,” said Larkin. His eyebrows sunk. This was his goddamned life after all, not Trevor’s. If he wanted to pause and rethink the plan, that’s what was going to happen.

  “Stop trying to pause and rethink everything. If that was your intention all along, you picked a piss-poor place to do it.

  Larkin nodded. Half of him wanted to belt Trevor in his perfect picture-in-the-frame smile, but the other half knew he was just reflecting his anxiety.

  “What is it?” he asked. He rolled his eyes. “You know, I had just enough alcohol in my system when we left to carry this mission through completion. You’re point man is losing his vim and vigor.”

  “The onset of sobriety is nothing to be feared,” said Larkin, even though he despised his own words. He took a deep breath, the kind a deep sea diver takes before the plunge. He shut his eyes and tried to calm his mind. “I still love Madeline.”

  “Well of course you do.”

  Larkin opened his eyes. “I didn’t see that one coming,” he whispered. He thought his words were lost to the hum of the cicadas, but Trevor had hearing as sharp as his buck knife.

  “What did you think I was going to say?” asked Trevor. “You’re a fool? A loser?”

  “No,” started Larkin, “I . . . I guess I just don’t know why I said that just then.” He turned to his friend. “Am I that transparent?”

  “Like Bianca’s panties.”

  Larkin grinned and shook his head. “Now that’s a sight.”

  Trevor laughed. “I mean, look at it. You two will have been separated for a while now. You haven’t even considered dating anyone else.”

  “Well I . . . um.”

  “Shut it,” spat Trevor. “Don’t even start degrading yourself. Sometimes when we speak I feel like I’m talking to Eeyore. Every chance you get, you give yourself a good knock. You’ve still got years left in you and you’re not half bad looking. And don’t forget that you’re a lawyer in a mountain town. Chicks dig that.”

  “Why? What can I offer? Stability? Money? Those ships have sailed.”

  “You can still offer those things if you just pull your damn head out of your ass. And I think you just did. You can offer those things to the right woman, and now you know who that is.”

  “I do.” Larkin hoped the green glow from the digital keypad did not illuminate his face. He was certain that his eyes had moistened a bit. “I need to get her back.”

  “And you will.”

  “How?”

  “You’ll find a way. You’re very smart.”

  “Right.”

  “Well for starters,” said Trevor, “I don’t think she’s going to fall back in love with a murderer.”

  Larkin nodded.

  “So we’re doing this, right?”

  Attempt. A criminal attempt occurs when a person, with the intent to commit an offense, performs any act that constitutes a substantial step toward the commission of that offense. In no event shall the punishment for an attempt to commit an offense exceed the maximum punishment had the offense been committed.

  Larkin swallowed. Even if the mission resulted in utter failure, both he and Trevor would have certainly acted with sufficient criminal intent to ruin both of their lives. “But it’s the only way,” he said, grasping for even a thimble’s worth of confidence.

  “Bolstering yourself?”

  “Just stating the facts.” He took another deep breath and pounded Anthony’s code into the keypad. The huge metal gate made a number of loud mechanical clanks before sliding open to reveal a dark driveway that disappeared as it wound its way around a stand of tall pines.

  “I’m going to get her back,” Larkin said softly as he tapped the accelerator.

  Trespass. Misdemeanor and civil liability. One is subject to liability to another for trespass, irrespective of whether he thereby causes harm to any legally protected interest of the other, if he intentionally (a) enters land in the possession of the other, or causes a thing or a third person to do so, or (b) remains on the land, or (c) fails to remove from the land a thing which he is under a duty to remove.

  Without the headlights engaged, Larkin was forced to drive barely above engine idle. The road was narrow and the trees blocked most of the moonlight.

  “Always wanted a home at the lake,” Trevor whispered, his voice uncharacteristically hushed. The thrill of the adventure coupled with the darkness around them demanded silence. The outrageousness of the situation required a modicum of respect for their circumstances. Both of their hearts pounded. Larkin was a sweaty mess. Trevor smiled.

  “If this plan works,” said Larkin, “this house might be on the market in a year or two. And then - - Jesus!” Larkin shouted as he stomped on the brake pedal. A large doe, glared at them from no more than two or three feet from the front of Larkin’s car. Both men breathed heavily, their eyes wide. The deer stomped her front right hoof, apparently unafraid. She repeated this movement as if to declare something of great import. Though the light was dim, the form of her - - nutmeg fur wrapped around lean powerful muscles - - was evident by her silhouette.

  “Thank God you saw that,” said Trevor.

  “Thank God my tires didn’t squeal against the pavement.”

  “Too slow,” said Trevor. “Too slow.”

  “Why isn’t she moving?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t recommend honking your horn. Maybe if you just turned on the lights.”

  “Don’t headli
ghts freeze deer?”

  “This one’s already frozen. Maybe it will un-freeze her.”

  Larkin bit his lip. “We haven’t even made it to the house and we’ve almost already failed.” Larkin engaged his fog lamps.

  The deer’s nostrils flared. She cocked her head and stared straight through Larkin. The glare was intense. He turned from the animal’s gaze and followed the simple strong curves of her body. Her back legs appeared both powerful and graceful. This was an animal of purpose, thought Larkin. It did not meander or wallow in pity. It simply acted.

  She opened and shut her long mouth as if she chewed something. “I can’t drive around,” said Larkin. “There’s no room on this road.”

  “I could step out and,” began Trevor, but the deer had made her decision. “There she goes!”

  Appearing so shortly after making such a major decision, Larkin considered the significance of the deer. His right foot hovered above the gas pedal. “Why do I feel like nature just judged us?”

  Trevor extended his tongue and made a crude noise. “Please. I’m not doing metaphors. Deer in the road means watch out for deer shit. Let’s move.”

  Larkin nodded, although down deep, he humored himself. If nature had judged him, he felt fairly secure that he had passed the test. He tapped the accelerator. They remained silent as a large home appeared and quickly hogged the horizon. With a simple clapboard exterior coupled with half a dozen spacious balconies, the home was rustic farmhouse by way of seven figures and Savannah. The driveway looped and Larkin parked his car in front of a massive door framed by two tall off-white columns.

  “This guy’s entire life is spent between columns,” Larkin muttered.

  “I guess he wanted to feel as equally important while off the clock.”

  “I’m sure of that.” Larkin and Trevor exited the car and stood before the door. Larkin glanced over his shoulder. He half expected to see the deer watching him from the edge of the wood giving further encouragement. He saw nothing but shadows and trees.

  He turned and regarded the door. Larkin studied the fish-eye peephole. Anthony had been correct about the code. This gave him a bit of confidence. Hours ago, it had seemed too good to be true.

  With alcohol flowing through his system, Larkin had easily believed Anthony when the law clerk had said that no one would be in the house. Alcohol still tickled his blood but standing face to face with a door that was likely worth more than his office, skepticism struck him. He looked up. The windows above and adjacent to the balconies showed only darkness. It was all falling perfectly into place. According to Anthony, just inside the home, after taking the first left beyond the foyer, they would come across the Justice’s private study. There, within the center drawer of the desk, he would find letters written from Alex Jordan. Scintillating letters. Letters indicating an inappropriate affair. Letters that would implicate the Justice, save Larkin’s ass, and allow him to pursue Madeline. The letters would be enough for Detective Kincaid to fix things. That is, if the cop ever got some sleep.

  There it was. His path to freedom. He only needed to break about a dozen or so laws in the process.

  He looked down at the painted brick patio. Allegedly, one of the bricks on the left side of the stoop would be loose. Its removal would reveal a key to the unalarmed front door. Unalarmed. The hubris of the Justice knew no bounds. But what if the key wasn’t there? Could they break down the door? A window?

  Destruction of Property. If any person unlawfully destroys, defaces, damages or removes without the intent to steal any property, real or personal, not his own, he shall be guilty of a Class 3 misdemeanor. (B.) If any person intentionally causes such injury, he shall be guilty of a Class 1 misdemeanor.

  Larkin dabbed the perspiration with the back of his hand. His mind raced, scattered, regrouped and raced again. “Will you look?” he asked Trevor. No one’s home, he thought. No one’s home.

  Trevor nodded.

  Larkin closed his eyes and listened to the chalkboard sound of brick scraping brick.

  “Got it,” said Trevor. He had lowered himself to one knee to examine the brick and now held the key out to Larkin. It was a gesture that demonstrated more than a simple offering. Trevor’s wild eyes telegraphed much. This is the key that will allow me to break into this mansion and cause havoc, and I’m giving it to you. Trevor was being polite.

  “Cause I’m the one framed for murder, right?”

  Trevor shrugged.

  Larkin took the key and slipped it into the door. With a swift turn, the deadbolt slid back. Larkin pushed, counted to three and crossed the threshold.

  “No alarm,” Trevor confirmed.

  The foyer floor was a sea of slate. It appeared to stretch to infinity as the ashen tiles disappeared in the shadows where the moonlight flooding in from the open door could not reach. The tiles were evenly spaced squares, a chessboard after team black had reigned victorious and painted the white squares to memorialize the win. A chandelier, blooming in the space above their heads like a glass carnation, seemed to hover as the tall ceiling was barely visible. The house smelled of leather, hints of pipe smoke, and half a dozen other expensive things.

  Trevor nudged the door to close it. Larkin held up his hand as if to prevent him from doing so, but he did not know why. As soon as the inner latch clicked into place, the din of the cicadas disappeared leaving the home as quiet as a tomb. But when Larkin stepped forward, his heel clicked against the slate tile. The sound ping-ponged from shrouded wall to wall.

  “This way,” said Larkin. The Justice’s house echoed with their footsteps.

  “This house is quiet,” said Trevor.

  “And loud,” added Larkin.

  Past the foyer, Larkin entered a hallway. The passage was dark. Even looking out of the corner of his eyes, Larkin could not spot where the hallway led. His left hand felt upon the wall and seized the glossy painted crown molding. Inch by inch he followed the molding through the passage. Floorboards groaned.

  Suddenly the hallway was flooded with light. Larkin squinted and turned, his heart racing.

  “No one’s here,” said Trevor as he leaned against the wall, his fingers resting upon the light switch. Larkin opened his mouth to object but Trevor raised his hand. “It isn’t visible to the outside. I checked.”

  Larkin nodded. Trevor caught up and they proceeded to the Justice’s office. The floor creaked loudly as they made their way to a closed red-stained oak door.

  “It costs a lot of money to build a house this new and make it sound so old,” said Trevor. “Reclaimed wood.”

  Larkin barely nodded. He focused on the copper-colored doorknob inches from his fingertips. His heart beat like a gatling gun. Salvation.

  “I have certain unalienable rights,” whispered Larkin.

  “Damn right.”

  “Among those are life,” his fingers clutched the knob. It felt cool. “Liberty,” he said as his wrist turned. “And the pursuit of happiness.” The door opened.

  The room was larger and made larger by the bare cedar plank walls. Larkin had half-expected the Justice to have peppered the walls with enough diplomas, awards and the like to fill a U-haul. Instead, the room was kept simple. A modestly sized roll-top desk rested against the left wall. The blue leather office chair had been attractive in 1982. Each crack in the scratched hide may have been borne of a particularly difficult judicial decision. It was a chair that demonstrated great productivity. Larkin had a similar such chair.

  Four tall windows on the opposite side of the room looked out upon a beautifully landscaped lakeside lawn. In the blinking green glow from an offshore channel marker, Larkin could see a boathouse protruding into the dark still water. Nothing else seemed remarkable except the attractive globe at the back of the room,

  “My office is nicer than this,” said Trevor.

  “It is what it is,” said Larkin, “a room to get things done.” He approached the desk. According to Anthony, handwritten notes implicating the Justice as more t
han a suspect were inches away. Larkin rolled the tiled wooden covering back into the recesses of the desk. The desktop work area was dominated by two neatly stacked piles of documents. The top page on each stack appeared to be the beginning of a judicial opinion. The rest of the desktop was littered with a few pens, mostly red, and two or three legal pads. Larkin reached down and tugged at the center drawer. It did not budge.

  “He’s got a brand new Chaparral,” said Trevor as he stared at the boathouse. “Twenty footer. Maybe three hundred horse power or more.”

  Larkin slid both his right and left index fingers into the small hinged brass hoops dangling from the face of the drawer. He tugged. The drawer moved less than a quarter of an inch before some internal bolt or metal clip prevented anything further.

  “Shit,” said Larkin.

  “Stuck?”

  Larkin nodded.

  “Let me have a go.”

  Larkin shook his head. He tugged again. Fruitless. “My uncle had one of these,” he said as he lightly smacked the face of the drawer. “It has an odd locking mechanism. You pull the right drawer out and then the center drawer gets unhitched.”

  “Ahh,” said Trevor. He wandered to the far end of the room. “Well if you want me to break it, I’ll be over here.” His finger grazed the surface of the globe.

  Trespass to Chattels. One who commits a trespass to a chattel is subject to liability to the possessor of the chattel.

  “I know what this is,” said Trevor as he fingered the Azores.

  “What?” asked Larkin as he began opening and closing various combinations of desk drawers. He turned to see Trevor open the top half of the globe. As the world north of the equator descended on its hinge, the lower half of the world revealed a small elegant bar top complete with a bottle of scotch and a single high-ball glass.