An Equal Justice

by Chad Zunker

  “I’m not sure I follow.”

  He swallowed. “It’s more like I lied to myself, I think.”

  “Keep talking.”

  Standing, David walked over and leaned against a wooden railing on the porch. “I met this interesting group of guys recently. I mean, these were really great guys, Brandy. From the first moment I met them, they all treated me like I was family. The most genuine and happy-go-lucky guys I’ve ever been around. But these guys have absolutely nothing. I mean, nothing. No cars, no electricity, no working toilets, barely the clothes on their backs. Hell, they all live in camping tents in the middle of the woods. It’s crazy. But honestly, most of them seem a whole hell of a lot happier than the guys I work with at the firm every day.”

  “Happier than you?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well, you don’t have to have money to be happy.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “Do you really, David? Because I’m not sure I believe you.”

  “Come on, sis. Cut it out.”

  “Look, I’m just saying since middle school, nearly everything with you has always been about making money. You were always so dang embarrassed about us being so poor. You got into so many fights with the other boys when you felt like they were making fun of you for it. You were always talking about making it all the way to the NFL, earning millions of dollars, so you could have a different life from what we had. You were always talking about buying big houses, fancy cars, and boats, when you finally made it.”

  “Every young boy talks like that.”

  “True. But with you, it was somehow different. It was your singular obsession, especially after Momma died.”

  “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”

  Brandy wouldn’t let it go. “Do you think I’m happy, David?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “No, you don’t!” she said, chastising him. “I saw it clear as day on your face the moment you stepped out of the car today. You can’t fool me. Poor Brandy, still living in a mobile home, still wearing worn-out old clothes bought at garage sales and barely able to even buy her son a stupid trumpet. But you don’t need to feel sorry for me. We’re happy here. We don’t have a fancy SUV, but we have more than enough. We have a good life. I wouldn’t change it.”

  “Good for you.”

  She wasn’t done with the lecture yet. “And you know what? Momma was happy, too.”

  David turned, frowned. “Stop it. Mom was miserable. We had nothing.”

  “You’re wrong. We had each other. And to Mom, that was enough.”

  “It wasn’t enough, Brandy. Mom worked herself to death trying to give us more. She wouldn’t be dead right now if she hadn’t had to run to three different jobs her whole life, barely ever getting any sleep, just to put crappy cleats on my feet and somehow pay for all of my football camps.”

  “Mom is dead because it was her time.”

  “It wasn’t her time!” David yelled, his face flush with anger. “Stop saying that!”

  Brandy looked over at him with sad eyes, her voice softening. “Oh, Davey, I love you so much. You know that. But you’ve got to finally let Momma go already. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I know you always wanted to take care of our mother. From the moment Dad passed, you were so determined to fill his shoes somehow, become the man of the house, and take care of our family. Momma and I used to call you the only six-year-old grown man we knew. You were such a chivalrous little boy, always wanting to help Momma out, never even letting her carry in the groceries herself. From early on, you made it your mission in life to grow up and take care of our mother. And now that you can finally do it, not getting the chance must hurt you a lot.”

  David looked away, his eyes growing moist. She was right.

  “But Momma made her own choices, too,” Brandy continued. “Did you know that when you were in the eighth grade and I was a sophomore, that Momma got offered a really good full-time job over in Midland? She’d met a nice lady at a church retreat there, they really hit it off, and the lady’s husband owned a successful accounting firm. The pay would’ve been more than twice what Momma had been making. It was enough money that she probably could’ve finally moved us out of the trailer and into a real home. Maybe even get herself a car that didn’t break down every other week. But she turned it down.”

  David looked over. “Why? That’s crazy.”

  “She didn’t want to move us. I had just joined the drill team and was finally making new friends after having trouble my freshman year. And Coach Taylor at the high school had already taken a real shine to you, even as an eighth grader, and he told Momma his big plans for you. You’d found a place to belong in that group of boys and began practicing even harder, if that was possible. Momma had started a Bible study with some sweet ladies that she really cared about and who were caring so well for her. She didn’t want to move us away from all of that—even if it meant a lot more money. We were struggling but getting by at that point. No, we didn’t have anything extra; that was for sure. And Momma would have to keep working multiple jobs to make ends meet. But she was okay with it. Momma knew that real happiness was found in relationships and not in nicer cars and bigger houses.”

  David felt a catch in his throat. “You never told me that before.”

  “I guess I was waiting for the right time.”

  SIXTEEN

  The Gulfstream glided smoothly through the air on its way back to Austin. Lyons had been passed out drunk across from him nearly the entire flight—only waking up here and there to ramble on incoherently about something, or to stumble into the restroom to vomit. David found it embarrassing behavior for a man who led a successful litigation group for one of the most powerful law firms in Texas; a man who’d made over $4.5 million last year alone; a man who was regularly praised on the covers of national legal magazines; a man who’d been his idol and envy just a few weeks ago. At the moment, Marty Lyons seemed like nothing more than a rich fraternity punk.

  Upon returning to the country club, David had inadvertently walked in on Lyons and Ornen engaged in some sketchy behavior with two young ladies outside the spa’s steam room. Both men were married. Pretending not to notice, David had waited in the lobby for his boss to finally emerge. Later, Lyons had warned him in private that if David ever mentioned anything to his wife, he’d fire David on the spot—or have him killed. The second comment took him off guard. He thought Lyons was trying to be funny; however, it gave him pause. He couldn’t shake the image of Lyons meeting with the same guy who had been outside Nick’s house. The same guy who had been rummaging through Nick’s office two days later. Who the hell was he? And what was he looking for? Lyons said he worked for a client. Which client? Could there possibly be something more behind Nick’s suicide?

  David felt a chill rush up his back. Was it a suicide?

  Alert at the moment, Lyons’s glassy eyes were on his cell phone in his fingers as he typed out a few things, probably trying drunkenly to reply to emails. Finished, he put his head back against the seat cushions and seemed to be out of it again. David glanced down at the man’s phone that had fallen loosely onto his boss’s chest. He had a sudden thought to snag the phone and peek at his messages—see if he spotted anything odd about Nick—but David knew he probably only had a few seconds to act before the phone locked with security. David felt a surge of adrenaline push through him. What if Lyons caught him?

  Getting out of his seat, David leaned over his boss. Then he reached down and carefully plucked the phone from the man’s chest, like he was playing the kids’ Operation game and didn’t want to get buzzed. Device in hand, David looked at the screen. The phone was still active and not yet locked. He felt his heart racing. He pressed an icon on the screen to keep it unlocked, and then he cautiously stepped around to the very back of the cabin.

  He stared down at the screen, his fingers shaking. Where should he look first? He opened Lyons�
�s email and did a search in the app for Nick Carlson, which brought up over five hundred emails between Nick and his boss over the past few years. Nick had worked on a lot of Lyons’s cases. David thought about that. If Nick was just an adequate lawyer, why would his boss have him involved with so many of his clients?

  David began scrolling, seeing if anything stood out to him as suspicious. But it all just looked like standard casework interaction. Most of the clients listed in the emails were familiar company names, but there were a couple he hadn’t seen before. David made mental notes on those clients.

  Lyons suddenly shifted in his seat, mumbled something. David stood perfectly still, not sure what he’d do if Lyons woke up and looked back in his direction. David would be crucified. His heart beating even faster, he quickly went back to the phone, switched gears, and began searching through text messages instead. Lyons was inundated daily with hundreds of texts. And it looked like his boss never deleted anything—which gave David some hope. He scrolled all the way back to the day Nick had committed suicide, just to see if he found anything.

  He did.

  The afternoon of his death, Nick and Lyons had exchanged texts.

  Nick: We have to go to the police with this.

  Lyons: We have a duty to protect our client. No police.

  Nick: This isn’t right. You know that.

  Lyons: We’ve been over this already. Don’t be a fool.

  Nick: I think it’s foolish to do nothing.

  There was no return text from Lyons after the last one from Nick. And there was nothing above this particular text exchange that seemed to connect to this conversation. David wondered what this was all about. Police? What the hell?

  His boss started talking out of nowhere, startling David.

  “Eddie really liked you, David. Said you reminded him of his son.”

  Quickly shoving the phone in his pocket, David slipped into his seat across from Lyons again. The man had his eyes half-open. David prayed his boss wouldn’t suddenly look down, realize his phone was missing, and start searching.

  “I appreciate that,” David replied. “Enjoyed golfing with him, for sure.”

  A sly grin appeared on Lyons’s face. “Eddie cheats at golf. Always has. I saw him drop a new ball in perfect grass several times.”

  David didn’t reply. He just stared at the man’s eyes, hoping he’d go out cold again.

  “You did good today, son,” Lyons said. “Why don’t you take some time for yourself tomorrow? Go roll around with Melissa. That’s why I sent her. I know I would in your shoes.”

  David cocked his head. What did Lyons just say? David had never mentioned a word to his boss about dating Melissa. He thought back to the unexpected text from his boss that showed up on Melissa’s phone while they were on their first date. She hadn’t mentioned a word about Lyons over the past month. David had felt no real reason to push her on it—until now.

  With his boss passed out again, David pulled Lyons’s phone back out and searched for Melissa’s contact info, which he easily found. Then he pressed a button to send her a text message and discovered a brief text strand between his girlfriend and his boss that began the first day he’d met Melissa.

  Lyons: He’ll be at Buffalo Billiards tonight around 11.

  Melissa: Okay, I’ll be there.

  Five hours, twelve minutes later, another exchange.

  Melissa: All is good. We’re spending the day together on Sunday.

  Lyons: Nice work.

  Two days later, he found this time-stamped when they were having dinner at Eddie V’s:

  Lyons: Any update?

  Then, an hour later:

  Melissa: He doesn’t seem too upset about Nick. But I think we’re going to see each other again soon, so I’ll probe a little more this week.

  Lyons: Keep me posted.

  Melissa: I will. But let’s talk by phone from this point forward.

  Lyons: Agreed.

  That was the end of the texts.

  David felt his stomach drop. He could hardly believe what he was reading. Lyons had set up his meeting Melissa? Why? Had she been lying to him about everything this past month? He remembered now that Melissa had asked early on about Nick’s suicide and how David felt about all of it. He said he was fine and never went into any details with her.

  What did she want to know?

  More important, what did Lyons want to know?

  SEVENTEEN

  David drove straight from the airport to Melissa’s house, where he banged on her front door until he woke her up. He saw lights pop on down the hallway, heard the poodle barking up a high-pitched storm on the other side of the door. Finally, Melissa answered wearing black silk pajamas with messy hair and a foggy look in her eyes.

  “David?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

  “We need to talk right now,” he demanded.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  She let him inside the foyer. The poodle growled at him.

  “Did something happen in New Orleans?” she asked.

  He ignored her question. “Why were you at Buffalo Billiards the night we met?”

  “What?”

  “Please just answer my question.”

  “I told you already. I’d met clients there earlier that night.”

  “Which clients?”

  “What’s this all about? Why are you so upset?”

  “I want the truth from you.”

  She stood there, mouth parted but not saying anything.

  “I’m giving you an opportunity here, Melissa,” David said. “I suggest you take it.”

  She dug in her heels, her eyes narrowing. “I don’t like your tone.”

  “I don’t like your lies.”

  “I’m not lying to you. So stop it!”

  David knew right then and there it was over between them. He’d held on to some false hope that Melissa would immediately disclose the full truth and beg for forgiveness—and that might be enough to salvage something of their relationship. But that clearly wasn’t happening. However, he still wanted to know the truth about her involvement with Lyons.

  “How well do you know my boss, Melissa?”

  She shrugged. “I told you. He’s a client of our firm.”

  “That’s it? He’s just a client?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “Do you ever have any direct interaction with him?”

  “I mean, I see him here and there at different functions.”

  He almost laughed at her. “How long are you going to keep up this stupid charade? I know you’ve been corresponding with Lyons about me.”

  Melissa cursed, her shoulders dropping. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

  “So everything between us has been a lie?”

  “No, I swear,” she said. “It’s not like that.”

  “Then tell me what it’s like.”

  She sighed, swallowed. “Marty is one of my father’s biggest clients. He said he had a sensitive client situation, and he was worried that you might reveal highly privileged attorney-client information because you were rattled about Nick Carlson’s suicide. As a favor, he asked me to spend some time with you to see if anything came up about it. That’s it.”

  “What privileged attorney-client information?”

  “I don’t know exactly. It all had to do with Nick Carlson.”

  David tried to put that together in his head. He hadn’t worked on any client matters where Nick had been involved before his death. So it didn’t make much sense to him.

  “I wanted to tell you the truth, David,” Melissa insisted.

  “But you didn’t. Not even when given a second chance tonight.”

  She frowned at him. “It’s complicated, okay?”

  “No, it’s not. To me, it’s simple. You chose to protect Daddy’s money over building our relationship on trust. You showed your true colors.”

  Melissa didn’t like being called a liar. So she tur
ned on him. “Look, you can get off your high horse already. You’re no Boy Scout, either, with your hidden bottles of pills.”

  David’s mouth dropped open.

  “That’s right,” Melissa added. “I’ve seen you secretly popping them when you think I’m not watching.”

  “I’m not taking them anymore.”

  “So what? You lied to me about them.”

  “I never lied. I just . . .” David didn’t feel like arguing about who was the worse person between them and turning this into an even bigger drama. So he turned to walk out.

  “Have a good life, Melissa.”

  EIGHTEEN

  The next day, David drove over to a civic center on the east side where one of the city’s nonprofits was hosting a homeless resource fair. He’d done some online searching, hoping to spot an opportunity where he might run into Larue and make amends. The resource fair had popped up on Google and seemed like as good a chance as any.

  He got out of his car and walked over to the main building, where a long line of homeless folks had formed on the sidewalk. There was a band set up near the front of the building playing music and entertaining the ragtag group. Inside the main hall, David found a bustling crowd of both volunteers and those who were being served. There were signs at different stations all around the hall: HAIRCUTS, MEDICAL, IDs, JOB ASSISTANCE, LEGAL, and HOUSING. David noted that everything was orderly and civil. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but all the guests were being very patient and considerate as they waited in the long lines. He did not immediately spot Larue or any of the boys he’d met at the Camp the other night. He went back outside.

  In a side parking lot, several huge canopies had been set up with folding tables beneath them. Behind the canopies, he spotted volunteers stationed at portable grills, where they were rapidly producing cooked burger patties. A nice burger aroma hung in the air. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Larue anywhere outside, either.

  “You here to help?” a short-haired lady asked him. Her name tag identified her as Ruth, the volunteer coordinator.

  “Help how?” David asked.