Bad Bitch (6 page)

Evan turned and pointed to a man toward the back of the gallery. “You, sir, stand up and tell the Court what you’re doing here.”

George, the tail I’d put on Castille for his time in New York, stood and looked from me to Evan and back again. I gave a slight nod.

George put his hands in his pockets, reticent to give anything away. “I, uh, I am a private investigator.”

Speak up,” Evan commanded.

George obliged. His voice was shaky and loud as he repeated his answer.

“Who hired you?” Evan asked.

George looked back at me. I nodded again. “Well, the federal government.”

Evan’s voice was a lash now. “Yes, but who
specifically
?”

George turned his head back and forth between Evan and me, as if he were watching the ball in a spirited round of tennis.

Evan put a stop to the match. “Look at me! Mr. Granade can’t help you now. Answer my question. Who hired you?”

“Uh, Lincoln.”

Evan turned back to the judge. I put a hand out and motioned for George to sit back down. Now that he was made, he’d be off the case. Evan just cost him his job.

“This is yet another abuse in a long line of overzealous prosecution actions that this Court should not condone, much less encourage, by allowing Lincoln Granade to continue his witch hunt against—”

“Judge, if I may?” I asked. Evan wasn’t the only one who knew how to steal the spotlight.

Judge Crane turned her attention to me and gave a pleasant smile. “Please, go ahead.”

“The man you see sitting right there”—I pointed to Castille—“has cheated and stolen and lied his way into the bank accounts of dozens if not hundreds of elderly New Orleans residents. I would be derelict in my duty as an Assistant United States Attorney if I did not thoroughly investigate each and every allegation of wrongdoing perpetrated by this man. And this is not for my protection.”

I turned to look at Evan.

“It’s for
his
.
The Department of Justice takes great pride in bringing charges based on the veracity of the allegations and the ability to prove those allegations beyond a reasonable doubt. If I didn’t do a thorough investigation every time I worked a case, then the chances of charging an innocent person would rise exponentially. However, because I
did
do my job and made sure Mr. Castille is just as dirty as I originally thought he was, the government has a vested interest in seeing him brought to justice. Now, if Ms. Pallida has an issue with the way I conduct my investigations into her clients, she may want to advise her clients to stop breaking the laws of the United States of America. That’s the quickest way to get me off their case.”

Wood clicked his pen with a rapid-fire sound, like a golf clap for attorneys.

Evan was smart enough to know that neither of her grounds was sufficient for disqualification. No, what she was doing was assassinating my character, trying to get me a black mark with the judge before I even had a chance to get started.
Bad bitch.

Judge Crane nodded, her iron gray bob not moving a centimeter. “I see nothing amiss that would lead me to disqualify you on the basis of your investigation, Mr. Granade. Good legwork used to be a hallmark of the profession. Glad to see some of you younger lawyers are still keeping that tradition alive.”

She turned her withering gaze back to Evan. “Ms. Pallida, if you can present me with a statute saying that an AUSA has to be a member of the bar in the state where he is bringing federal charges, then let me know.”

“Not off the top of my head, Your Honor.” Evan clasped her hands in front of her, looking almost penitent. She needed to work on that maneuver. Humble didn’t ring true for even a moment on one such as her.

Judge Crane smiled. It was warm yet weary. “Evan, you’ve been before me enough for me to know that if you had it, you would have brought it. On that basis, motion to disqualify is denied. Anything else?”

Evan gave me a sly look, as if to say “that was a love tap compared to what comes next.”

She played dirty. I liked it.

Nice try, angel.

“If I may, I’d like to request this be put on the expedited docket. As I said, Judge Crane, her client is a scumbag who bilked dozens of elderly investors out of their life savings. Simply based on their age, the faster we can try this case the better. Of course, unless Mr. Castille wants to go ahead and plead guilty to get it over with—”

Evan shook her head sharply.

“In that case, I request that we be set for trial in ninety days.”

Evan laughed, though she was clearly not amused. “Judge, that’s just not possible. Ninety days? I couldn’t possibly prepare an adequate defense in that short period of time. The Government is already trying to railroad my client with this nonsense.”

Judge Crane looked from me to Evan and back. “Given the nature of the victims, I will expedite this case. Trial is set for one hundred twenty days from now—”

“Judge Crane,” Evan said, “that is not going to work—”

“Ms. Pallida.” Judge Crane’s voice cut like a knife “You will try this case in one hundred twenty days. You’re lucky I didn’t give him the ninety he asked for. Time is of the essence. Prepare your defense accordingly.”

Evan retreated from the well. Her back was straight as a book edge, and she had a well-trained poker face. She sat, and I resumed my seat next to Wood. Judge Crane called the next case. Once the rest of the courtroom was sufficiently occupied, Evan turned to me and narrowed her eyes. I smiled, wanting to rile her.

She swiveled around in her chair, facing me directly and at an angle to everyone else in the courtroom. She half closed her eyes and watched me through her lashes. Then she opened her legs, giving me a glimpse of the skimpy lace panties she wore underneath. The look on her face was pure devil. My dick reacted just as she’d intended, standing at attention despite the venue.

She let me stare at that little piece of fabric for a few seconds before recrossing her legs, a satisfied smirk turning up the corner of her plump lips. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her. The rest of the courtroom turned into a blur of suits and Yankee accents. It was just her and me. I couldn’t tell if we were flirting or fighting. Either way, I liked it.

“And if there’s no one else, we’re adjourned,” Judge Crane called from the bench.

Everyone in the courtroom stood. Except me. I had to sit. Evan sidled over to me and bent down to whisper in my ear. Nothing odd about it; lawyers were always sharing secrets. But Evan wasn’t playing lawyer. She had another game.

“I keep thinking about the way your cock would taste, about how snugly it would fit in my throat. Sometimes I imagine myself sucking you down, and other times I imagine you coming on my face or my tits. I just wanted to tell you that. Oh, and that my panties are so wet right now. That’s all”—she straightened—“and you better have all those documents to my office this week,” she finished for all to hear.

She knew what she was doing to me. The sparkle in her eyes showed me how excited she was. The little tease. My cock didn’t care if she was doing it on purpose. I didn’t either, really. If I could have gotten up, followed her out, and bent her over in the bathroom without anyone noticing, I would have. As it was, I was surrounded by other attorneys, and my dick was so hard it was giving my zipper a run for its money.

Evan walked away and collected Castille before strolling from the courtroom. She gave me one last little smile before she was gone.

“You coming, Lincoln?” Wood was leaning against the waist-high balustrade separating the well from the gallery.

Nice phrasing.
I covered. “Yeah, just give me a minute. I wanted to sort of soak in the feel of this courtroom, since it’s new to me and all.”

Wood raised his gray eyebrows. “Sure. I’ll catch you back downstairs.” He disappeared behind me. The rest of the attorneys filtered out until it was just me, sitting and thinking about all the things I was going to do my bad bitch.

Evan

I was pleased that I was able to tar and feather Lincoln, at least a little, in front of Judge Crane. He needed to be taken down a peg or two now that he was in New York playing the real game. And the fun after the hearing was the icing on the cake. The look of primal desire in his eyes when he got a glance of my snatch,
Basic Instinct
–style, was gratifying. And knowing that he couldn’t stand up because his dick was an iron rod in his pants—extremely gratifying.

After the arraignment, I had a brief chat with Castille and then returned to the office.

My work tended to pile up exponentially while I was away from my desk. After all, Castille wasn’t my only client. I had meetings and prep sessions set for the rest of the week.

I never looked forward to parsing the dirty details of my client’s misdeeds. Though few knew it, my particular line of work was an acquired taste for me, not my first choice in how to use my law degree. But it was a line of work that paid the bills and kept me on top, and I’d discovered a while ago that those two things were the only ones that really mattered.

Still, I had a spring in my step that wouldn’t even be dissuaded by my too-high heels. I felt energized, more alive, after sparring with Lincoln. I was relieved when he put up a good fight. He took charge in the bedroom and the courtroom. My wet dream come to life.

“How’d it go?” Vinnie asked as I dropped my bag and kicked my heels up on my desk.

“Not bad. Got in the first hit on the competition.”

“The disqualification motion work?”

“No, of course not. But it was fun to argue all the same.” I couldn’t squelch the smile that crept into my face, remembering how he went a round with me. Just jabs, mostly, but I could tell he knew how to punch.

Vinnie sat down in the chair across from me. “You sure are in high spirits for someone who lost a motion. Who’s opposing counsel?”

“Wood.”

“I know
wood
makes you happy. I didn’t know Wood made you happy.” He waggled his eyebrows.

I clasped my hands behind my head. “And there’s an AUSA from New Orleans, too, Lincoln Granade.”

Vinnie nodded, figuring out the reason for my “high spirits” with a wary look. “Aha, he sounds, err, explosive.”

“He is.”

Vinnie sighed. “Be careful with that. We don’t need another Jonesy running around, making eyes at you and getting everyone at the courthouse whispering even more.”

“I can handle myself.”

I didn’t need a lecture from my associate, though his earnest brown eyes were more helpful than reproachful. He was right, of course. I needed to get my head out of my ass. Problem was, I suffered from small flashbacks of Lincoln’s dick wedged tightly inside me and had more than a little trouble keeping my composure. I wanted more of it, more of him. I couldn’t tell Vinnie my Lincoln problem. Besides, maybe I was making it out to be more than it was. Sleeping with opposing counsel didn’t bother me in the least. I’d skirted the rules of professional conduct for the entirety of my years of practice.

Then again, Lincoln was a danger, and damn if that didn’t just whet my appetite more. Those green eyes with the mysterious scar curving through his right brow were a lure into a trap that it would be better for me to avoid. Castille’s case was far from chump change. And if what Lincoln said was true, he’d sewn up his evidence tighter than my skirt, which was saying something. I would need to stay sharp to keep my client away from a six-by-six cell.

“I’m just saying, boss, seems like we need to keep our eye on the ball here.” Vinnie held his palms up to me, trying to ward off any vitriol. It was well known I didn’t take criticism with grace or appreciation.

I kicked my heels down, back on solid ground. “Fine, fine. I want you and Drew to get to work sorting through every box of shit Castille brought us. Any computers in there?”

Vinnie relaxed back into his chair. The storm he’d braced for hadn’t risen from me. He was right. I needed to focus.

“Yeah, a hard drive and an old laptop. I’ll send them out for processing.”

“Good. I want you two to make this your first-priority case. Pawn off the Linemont trial and the Clarendon arbitration on Cassie. Those cases will keep for a while. I can push back the hearing dates for months. Castille is on a rocket docket, trial in a hundred and twenty days, not to mention Lincoln and Wood already have a yearlong headstart.”

“Four months? We only have four months? Jesus. Forget about it.” Vinnie’s Bronx accent thickened right along with his dismay.

“We can handle this. You, me, and Drew. We just have to start at a run.”

“If you say so, boss.”

“I do. So get to fucking work. I’ll even let you boss Drew around some.”

Vin grinned.

These were things I could control, my staff, my caseloads, what work got done and by whom. I dusted away the fine film of lust Lincoln had deposited in the nooks of my mind and got back down to my business—saving clients from their sins.

He rose to leave. “How soon do you want a report on the documents?”

“Subpoenas out by this Friday, full profit-and-loss on each victim by next Friday, and an accounting of all investment activities on the Friday after that.”

Vinnie clutched at his heart in a mock coronary. “Shit. Carla’s going to kill me. We were supposed to have a date night this weekend.”

I had forgotten his wife was pregnant with their first child. Vinnie did a precarious balancing act of work and home that I couldn’t imagine. We worked hard enough to be exhausted at the end of every day. Thank God I didn’t have a family dragging me down.
Breeders
.
I shook my head. Poor Vinnie.

“Tell you what. You’ll make it up to her with the bonus I’ll cut you off the top of Castille’s fee,
if
he pays in full.” I kicked my feet back up.

“Really?” he asked.

Poor dope. I bet that wife and almost-kid were bleeding him dry. A little extra cash was no real skin off my back. I would use it as a tax write-off anyway.

“Really.” I nodded. Wasn’t I magnanimous? “But don’t tell Drew or she’ll be in here with her fucking hand out.”

“Yes, ma’am. I won’t. I’m getting right to work.” He hurried out of my office, as if afraid I would change my mind and take back the bonus.

I wouldn’t go back on it. Even if Castille didn’t pay in full. Vinnie deserved it. I paid well, really well when compared to other firms. But rewarding loyalty like Vinnie’s was important. Talented associates that stayed and chased the carrot were good for business. And, though I’d never admit it to Vinnie, I liked him. He was a good man, and I knew he was going to be a good father. That in and of itself was worthy of reward in my book. Still, I leaned back and studied the tops of the neighboring high-rises as I mentally kicked myself. Thirty-three and already going soft.

I brought my gaze back down.

“Jena!” I screamed for my secretary, not even bothering to use the intercom.

She burst through my double doors, her nervous walk pleasing me. “Yes, Ms. Pallida.”

“Get me some goddamn coffee. Why do I have to ask? Isn’t it your job to know what I want before I want it?”

“Y-yes, Ms. Pallida.”

“That’s what I overpay you for, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Ms. Pallida.” Her chin was almost trembling. Almost. I was working on toughening her up for her own good, though not enough, apparently.

“Jesus fucking Christ. What are you just standing there for? Go get it. And I swear to God, if you don’t have enough cream in it, I’m going to wedge my fucking heel up your fucking ass.”

She took off like a rabbit with a dog nipping at its heels.

I listened as she fumbled around with the coffeemaker, nerves no doubt ruining her ability to even get a filter in correctly.

I smiled.
Still got it
.

I spent the rest of the week clearing the decks so I could work on Castille’s case. Most of it entailed pressuring plaintiffs into settlements via giving them a little taste of the dirt I’d uncovered about them.

It was rare to have a real-deal plaintiff who actually deserved a recovery. More often, I dealt with sleazy plaintiff’s lawyers hoping to make a quick buck by soliciting clients, running them through an information mill, figuring out which ones had promise, and then shaking down whoever they picked to be on the other side of the “versus” on the docket listing. The good thing about such a lazy setup was that I could usually find criminal records, delinquent child-support payments, an ex-spouse with a hand out, or any number of misdeeds to use against the bozos.

I always had a handful of those cases going at any one time. They kept me busy and kept my associates employed. We did our homework on each plaintiff, and did it well. I always enjoyed the reveal. For example, showing a “poor, unsophisticated” plaintiff photos of himself with his secret second family was probably my favorite part of the week.

“How, exactly, is your client going to tell a jury that he was too slow to understand the details of his account statements, but at the same time he was clever enough to keep two completely separate lives going?”

Silence from opposing counsel on the line.

“Also, please run it past your client that I will be more than happy to send a copy of the dick pics and also a copy of the racy sexts he sent to his mistress—and this is
in addition
to the two wives—to each address where he claims a marital residence.”

A strangled cough shot through the intercom. “Evan, I’m going to have to call you back.”

“Do it by end of day. We’ll pay half your attorneys’ fee as a courtesy, but we won’t give him a dime. That’s our best and final. Otherwise, the pics will be in the mail. Got it?”

The attorney cursed under his breath. “I understand. I’ll be back in touch within the hour.”

He called in fifteen minutes. Offer accepted. Another one bites the dust.

By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, I’d back-burnered or settled a dozen cases. I was making hellish time, working myself and my associates down to the bone.

I yelled down the associates’ hall as I walked out, “Vin, you get those subpoenas out on Castille?”

“Done.” His weary voice called back to me.

Good job.
“Keep up the mediocre work!”

No reply, only a slight grumbling sound.

After a hard-charging week, I figured it was time for libations at the Docket Call. I’d been avoiding the place for days, but it was Friday and I needed a drink. Better to run the risk of a Lincoln panty-melting incident than go home and drink lonely. Drinking alone was not a problem, but drinking lonely was something else altogether.

I only felt a twinge of loneliness every so often. Sometimes I’d see couples dining at a restaurant or just walking together in the city, holding hands. They would make me feel like maybe I was missing something. I didn’t like that feeling. So I’d meet someone, take them back to my place, and screw the loneliness away. Suck it, hand holders! All was well.

I wasn’t lonely, just intentionally alone. On purpose. Completely.

I hurried to the bar, glad to see the familiar faces. Even Wood’s scowl brightened my mood. Mike poured a double and set it down on the thick oak bar.

“Where you been, stranger?” he asked.

I smiled. “Had to come back. Couldn’t stand being away from you for so long.”

I sidled up to Woodhall and took a well-worn seat.

“Finally got the nerve to come back to the watering hole?” he asked.

“Well”—I took a drink of the lower-shelf shit—“when the water is this tasty, I can’t stay away.”

“That’s my girl.” Wood finished his old-fashioned and asked for another.

I looked around. No Lincoln. I was relieved yet also disappointed.

“He’s working late tonight. Your guy Castille’s a slippery one.”

I ignored his assumption that I was looking for Lincoln. Besides, it was true, I was hoping for his tall, dark, and handsome brand of sexy. My ears perked up at the mention of Castille.

“What makes him so slippery?”

“Barking up the wrong tree, Evan.”

Woodhall had never given me any information, and likely never would. He was a tight-lipped do-gooder with a badge shoved straight up his ass. I respected him. There was nothing else to do with a man like him. I could imagine Wood shaking his fist and yelling “
get off my lawn!
” at a bunch of kids. I smiled as I took a drink.

The front door opened. I leaned back. I knew I shouldn’t want it to be Lincoln. I should stay away from him. But I wanted it to be him coming through the door all the same. It was Jonesy. He sat to my left and ordered his usual IPA. He already smelled like he’d pre-gamed pretty hard at the office.

“They let you boys drink at the Department of Justice?” I asked.

“Just a few nips here and there,” he said, the words already slurred.

I laughed. “Working late?”

“It’s only eight thirty. Not that late.”

“Shit, it’s already eight thirty? Goddammit, Clara is going to bust my balls.” Woodhall surrendered his barstool and threw some cash down for Mike. He left in a huff, no doubt counting the moments until he got home to see his grandkids.
Oh, Wood.

I turned back to Jonesy. “What you got on the burners?”

He took a leisurely swig and regarded me with his pale baby blues. “Nothing of yours, Evan.”

“I was just making conversation.” I actually was, this time. I’d missed Jonesy.

He shrugged a little, giving me a try. “Well, I did a ride-along on a drug sweep in Brooklyn.”

I leaned closer to him. “Did they let you have a gun?”

He smiled, his youthful charm making an appearance. “Sure did.”

I leaned ever farther, letting my breasts press into his arm. I was a harlot and wasn’t ashamed to show it. “Did you shoot any bad guys?”

His eyes swept down to my open collar, the smell of liquor heavy on his breath. “Well, as a fine, upstanding man of the law, I certainly thought about it. But, in the end, I let the ATF take down the perp. They needed the ego boost, seeing as how I put them to shame with all my masculine intensity.”