Deadly Justice

3

“YOU’RE NOT SERIOUSLY CONSIDERING his offer, are you?”

Ben and Christina sat at opposite ends of a table in the back of Louie D’s, beside the grill and beneath the Renoir prints and Native American art. Ben was in the process of finishing his cheeseburger—the best in downtown Tulsa as far as he was concerned.

“How can I not seriously consider it? It’s a very serious offer.”

“Yeah—six digits serious.”

“That’s not the only advantage, but it’s a definite selling point.”

“I thought money wasn’t so all-fired important to you.”

“It isn’t, but I’ve got to live. Think about it—I’ll make more money in two months than I made all last year.”

Christina frowned. “Do you know anything about this job you’re so eager for us to latch on to?”

Ben hedged. There was no point in trying to bluff Christina. She always had the inside skivvy.

“No, of course you don’t. Well, before you bid adieu to private life, let me provide a few hard facts. First, if you imagine you won’t have to keep time records, you’re wrong. They say it’s for internal management, but really it’s the same old same-old. The big bosses are checking up on you, ensuring that you’re sufficiently profitable. It’ll be just like the late unlamented days at Raven, Tucker & Tubb.”

“I doubt it, unless my old boss steps down from the bench and goes corporate. And I can live with filling out time sheets.”

“Do you realize who your boss at Apollo will be?”

Ben shook his head.

“Robert Crichton, one of the biggest, most sexist SOBs who ever lived. From what my friends tell me, he’s the five-hundred-pound gorilla of Apollo Legal. Rules the department like a tinhorn demagogue. Total creepola.”

“I’ve dealt with second-rate bosses before.”

“You remember Emily Gozonka, don’t you? She was a lawyer at Apollo—till they dumped her. She told me sexual harassment was everywhere—practically de rigueur. She had to put up with all kinds of crap-nicknames like ‘Legs,’ indiscreet fondling, comments about her bra size, being accused of having PMS every time she dared to disagree. You get the picture. She didn’t play along, so they canned her. How, you ask? They gave her an assignment to work with the legal department’s hatchet man, Harry Carter, another creep who’s at least fifty—but acts fifteen. Drives a Camaro, dates teenage girls—the whole works. That’s how they fire people like Emily; they give them an impossible assignment from Harry, and Harry rants and raves about what a horrible job they’ve done, thereby creating a record for the file to justify the firing. If the woman decides to file a lawsuit later on, they’ve got a perfect paper trail to back them up.”

“Christina, Emily Gozonka is a world-class exaggerator.”

“Granted. But this time I believe her.”

“Well, I can’t believe that systematic sexual harassment of that magnitude goes on in this day and age.”

“You’re living in a dream world, Ben.”

“Then how do you explain yourself? You’re a woman who’s succeeded in a man’s world.”

“Because I’m a legal assistant, Ben—a subservient, clearly nonthreatening role. I could be at Apollo twenty years, but I’d still have to take orders from the greenest male attorney in the department. It’s different for women trying to make it as attorneys. When they start invading the old boys’ club, the old boys get nervous.”

“Christina, I’m not going to judge an entire corporation based on one isolated rumor.”

“Why not? That’s your biggest problem. Don’t you know that?”

“I didn’t even know I had a biggest problem. What the hell are you talking about?”

“You won’t trust your feelings. That was your problem in the courtroom today—you were planning to battle the expert on his own turf, challenging his empirical data. As a result, you missed what should’ve been apparent—that he was several irons short of a golf bag. Same here: all you see are the career advantages, the high-profile cases, the chance to be a corporate do-gooder.”

“And what am I missing?”

“You’re missing my gut feeling which says, in boldface letters: don’t do this! I can’t explain why. I just know it’s a mistake.”

“But what if you’re wrong?”

“What if I am? Your life is perfectly fine as it is. Why risk screwing it up? The key to success is to find something you enjoy doing and to do it. You already have that.”

Ben finished his cheeseburger and washed it down with the last of his chocolate milk. “I don’t know, Christina.”

She laid her head heavily on the table. “You’ve already decided, haven’t you?”

Ben didn’t reply.

The waitress came by and left the check. Christina scooped it up. “You’re thinking about your mother, aren’t you? How excited she’ll be that you finally have a respectable job.”

Ben looked away. “The thought did cross my mind.”

“Jeez. How old do we have to be before we stop ordering our lives to please our parents?” She examined the tab. “What about Jones? And Loving?”

“Loving’s private investigations are practically more than he can handle. We’ll let Jones secretary for him for awhile, just to hold down the office. If this new job becomes permanent for us, we’ll see about bringing Jones over.”

“I can’t believe I’m going along with this. Kincaid, sometimes you are almost more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Thank goodness for the almost.”

“Yeah.” She tossed him the check. “Here, pal, you can pay. After all, you’re about to be rich.”