Extreme Justice

Chapter 12

BEN PARKED HIS van across from his boardinghouse and stumbled across the street. It was after one in the morning and he was bushed. It had been an incredibly long night, despite the fact that the musicians had never actually played a note. But the police detained everyone in the club until well after midnight. Only after they had interrogated everyone and had secured all the names and addresses did they finally begin releasing people.

Ben had done his best to convince his mother to spend the night in Tulsa, but she declined. Places to go; people to meet. At times she could be as stubborn as—well, as he was, he supposed.

He tiptoed up the front porch steps and opened the screen door. Of course, the thing squeaked as if it hadn’t been lubricated since Prohibition, despite the fact that he had oiled it himself barely a month before. Ever since he had moved into this house, he had been Mrs. Marmelstein’s unofficial financial adviser and handyman—even though he was about the least handy person on God’s green earth. But she needed someone. With her husband gone and the insistent tendrils of senility tightening around her, she needed someone to maintain the property, to pay the bills and, on more than one occasion, to make undocumented contributions to the petty cash box.

He jammed his key into the lock and crept into his room. It was dark and quiet. Lonely. But what did he expect? It wasn’t as if anyone would be waiting for him. He lived alone.

Well, not totally alone. Giselle leaped off the sofa and inserted her claws firmly into his shoulder.

“Gaaah!” He tried to stifle himself, remembering that it was, after all, after one, and most sane people were in bed.

He took her firmly in his hands and air-lifted her off his shoulder. Well, what’s a little blood between master and cat, he thought. He thought again. Giselle was his master—er, mistress.

“Why can’t cats sleep at night?” he wondered aloud. Giselle wasn’t around to hear. She had scampered into the kitchen and made agonized mewling noises.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He followed her into the kitchen. He took a can of Feline’s Fancy off the shelf, pried it open, and scooped the contents into her bowl.

She attacked her food ravenously. Ben grinned. Joey had been fascinated by the cat; he could watch her for hours. Maybe it was because he, at three feet, was more or less at her level. Some days, his nephew would follow Giselle all over the apartment, playing chase, sticking his hands in her water bowl …

Ben sighed. He wondered if Giselle missed Joey, too.

Probably not, actually. He could go only so far with this self-indulgent line of thought. Even in his most desperate hour, it would be hard to pretend that Giselle’s affections ran much deeper than her food dish.

He walked back into the living room and flopped down on the sofa. And what about his own affections? Where did they run? Or where were they running from?

One thing was certain. He’d had it with virtually everyone he knew surmising that they knew better than he who he was and what he should be doing—implying that he was wasting his life, that his interest in music was occasioned only by his retreat from the law. He had always loved music, always wanted to pursue a career in it. He had the time and the money now; that was all. It didn’t really have anything to do with … the other.

The other. What a bust that had been. Just when it appeared he was actually going to have some success, it all blew up in his face. Reality came along and gave him a bracing lesson in the true meaning of success. And the meaning of justice, too. Was it any wonder he didn’t care to practice law anymore?

And yet …

His mind drifted back to the early days. Law school, and just after. He had always told himself that his decision to go into law had nothing to do with money, nothing to do with career, nothing to do with choosing the profession his father most despised. He wanted to make a difference. He wanted to help other people.

To help other people. Well, well, well.

He certainly had the opportunity tonight, hadn’t he? Earl needed a lawyer—needed a lawyer even worse than he probably realized. But Ben had kept his lips shut tight. Hadn’t spoken a word.

Well, it wasn’t as if he was morally obligated to practice law for the rest of his life, right? Just because a man has a degree doesn’t mean he has to use it every time some hard-luck story drops into his lap, right? He was entitled to pursue his dreams, too, right?

Right?

He pounded a fist into his pillow. There would be no answers tonight. It was too late and he was too tired. All he wanted was rest. All he wanted was to close his eyes and—

He felt something fuzzy tickling the underside of his nose. His eyes shot open.

It was Giselle. The feeding finished, she was now burrowing a space for herself inside his arms, pressing her furry face against his cheek.

He gave her a little squeeze and closed his eyes. Perhaps her affections ran a tiny bit deeper than the food dish, anyway.