Deadly Justice (18 page)

“Promise. Now clear out. You’re blocking the window display.”

Tomlinson slowly backed away. He found his car, then parked near a corner across the street from Trixie’s post. He watched her for some time, maybe half an hour, until a tall man in a green flak jacket approached. She linked her arm through his and led him inside the building behind her. Half a minute later, a light came on in a small room on the second floor.

Tomlinson threw his car into first and drove away, disgusted and sick. Sick to his stomach, sick in his heart.

He’d have to get someone to cover for him on the switchboard tomorrow night, but he would definitely be here at nine.

In fact, he would be early.

B
EN WAS SITTING AT
his desk trying to make his computer do something—anything—when Christina popped her head into the office.

“Shouldn’t you be in the main conference room for the staff meeting?”

Ben put down the mouse, irritated. “No. Staff meeting was canceled.”

“Staff meeting was
postponed
, while Crichton visited his doctors again about his back. The meeting starts at ten o’clock sharp.”

Ben checked his watch, then jumped out of his chair. “Hokey smokes. How did you find out?”

“I try to stay
au courant
. After all, one of us has to, and you’re usually busy playing Sam Spade.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Christina. I’m out of here.”

“Bon voyage
.
”

Ben raced out of his office, down the corridor, and through the main conference room. Fortunately, he had some time to spare; the other lawyers (sans Crichton) were still milling about.

“Hey, Kincaid,” Herb said. “Glad you could make it. We were beginning to think you were going to stand Crichton up. Boy, would he have been ticked off.”

“I didn’t know we were meeting.”

“Really?” Rob said. “Herb sent us all memos.”

Herb’s brow furrowed. “That’s right—I sent one to every lawyer in the department. Gosh, Ben, I don’t know why you didn’t get one.”

Ben wondered.

“Ben, you have anything you want to take out of staff notes?” Chuck was standing behind him, holding another of his agendas. “We’re trying to streamline the meeting.”

“If you really want to streamline the meeting,” Ben said, “teach Crichton how to pour his own coffee.”

A smile played on Candice’s lips. “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Especially if he doesn’t want to learn.”

“I wonder what he would do…” Ben picked up the coffeepot on the credenza and filled the empty mug in front of Crichton’s chair. “This may spoil his fun.”

“By the way, Kincaid, I understand you were at Howard Hamel’s house yesterday.” It was Doug Gleason, perched safely behind his computer. “What on earth were you doing?”

“I was…helping the police search for information that might tell us what happened to Howard.”

“Indeed. That’s a novel approach. Make the prime suspect the detective.”

“I am not a suspect.” At least not officially, Ben thought. Yet.

Doug inhaled deeply on his cigarillo. “Well, if Howard had been found in my office, I bet the police would’ve had a few questions for me. Guess it pays to have friends in high places.”

“What are you insinuating, Doug?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.”

“How the hell did you find out I was at Hamel’s house, anyway?”

He blew a perfect smoke ring into the air. “A little birdie told me.”

“You know, Gleason,” Candice said, “you are really an obnoxious twerp. I don’t even like Kincaid, but I still think you’re being a butthole.”

“Oooh, retract those claws, Candy,” Doug replied calmly. “No need for a conflagration with me. Everyone knows
I’m
not sleeping with you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Figure it out for yourself, dear. Buy a dictionary.”

“You know, Gleason, I’d like to give you a swift kick between the legs.”

“Is that what you’re into? I’m not surprised.”

Rob stepped between them. “Children, children, let’s cool off.” He held Candice and Doug arms length apart. “Why is it I spend half my time at staff meetings breaking up fights?”

“Because you haven’t the sense to let nature take its course,” Chuck answered. “Kincaid, do we really need the Nelson case on the agenda?”

“It’s been very active this past week.”

“But do we need to talk about it? Do you need our help?”

“Well—no, not particularly.”

“Fine, it’s off. Shelly?”

Ben heard a rustling on the other side of the room. She was sitting in a chair at the end of the table. Ben hadn’t even noticed her.

“Shelly, I’ve got every goddamn project you’ve worked on for the last three months on the agenda. I hope you’re ready to talk about each and every one of them. At length.”

Shelly’s face turned a sickly shade of yellow, but she remained silent.

“I was wondering,” Ben said, drawing attention away from her. “Maybe we should have some kind of memorial for Howard.”

“Memorial?” Herb said.

“Yeah. Something to note his passing. Hell, one of our own was killed less than a week ago, and here we are going on as if nothing happened. As if he was never here.”

“What do you suggest?” Chuck asked.

“I don’t know—some kind of remembrance. Maybe you could put something on the agenda. We could each say a bit about what we remember best about Howard.”

“What I remember best is how he stole the Kestrel case from me,” Herb said. “And then, to make it worse, he screwed it up. That probably set my career back five years.”

“I remember the time he came on to me at the summer retreat,” Candice said. “He’d had way too much to drink. Kept babbling about how his wife was frigid and had I ever done this position or that position, the whole time staring at my—well, anyway. It was gross. He was practically drooling.”

“I don’t think this is the kind of remembrance Ben had in mind,” Rob said quietly.

“Why not? This is fun.” Chuck entered the fray. “Remember the departmental golf tournament, and how he kept shaving strokes off Crichton’s score? Man, what a suck-up. If there was anyone in this department you had to be careful about, it was him.”

“Remember the Alumco acquisition?” Doug said. “How he accidentally lost everyone’s proposal but his own?”

“What is this?” a voice boomed from the doorway. “I thought we were having a meeting.”

It was Crichton. Evidently, the fact that he was fifteen minutes late was of no importance. He expected everyone to be in their seats, lined up like obedient Boy Scouts.

As one body, they all scurried to the nearest available seat at the table. Once more, Herb outmaneuvered Chuck and took the catbird seat next to Crichton. Once they were all in position, Crichton strode to his tall chair. He grimaced a bit as he sat down; evidently his back was still giving him some trouble.

Before he began, he reached out for his coffee mug. “Goddamn it, someone call Janice and—” He stopped in mid-sentence, as he saw the steam rise from the mug. “Someone already—but—” He sputtered another moment, made a growling noise, then grudgingly sipped his coffee.

Ben tried to hide his smile. What a bad boy he was, to spoil Bobby’s fun.

“Chuck, have you got an agenda?”

Chuck slid the agenda down to Crichton. “First, I want to remind you all that we’ve got a softball game against the Memorex Telex legal department tomorrow, and I expect everyone to be there. Rain or shine, healthy or sick, and no matter how busy you are.” Crichton scanned the agenda for a few moments. “Kincaid?”

Ben looked up, startled. “What?”

“Where’s the Nelson case? It’s not on the agenda.”

“Well, that’s because—”

“Didn’t I tell you it was each lawyer’s responsibility to submit each major project they’re working on to staff notes?”

“Yes—”

“Did you think that case wasn’t important? That case that could potentially cost this corporation millions of dollars?”

“It wasn’t that. Chuck—”

“Damn it, when I give an order, I expect it to be carried out.”

“I understand—”

“No exceptions.”

“Really, the only reason—”

“Kincaid, I want you to submit a revised, all-inclusive agenda. And I want it on my desk by the end of the day. There’s no excuse for letting a case of that magnitude slip through your fingers. I don’t want this to ever happen again. Understand?”

Ben shot a fierce look at Chuck, who was conveniently looking the other way. The grins on the faces of me other lawyers were barely masked. They had known Chuck was setting him up from the start. Sabotage, corporate style. “I understand, sir. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” Crichton downed some more coffee, then, suddenly, his anger seemed to drain away. His flushed face resumed its normal color. “Good grief, Kincaid. I don’t know what came over me. Imagine talking to a litigator of your caliber the way I did. And over a trivial matter like this. I don’t know what gets into me sometimes. Could you possibly accept my apology?”

If the other lawyers in the room were delighted before, they were horrified now. It seemed that Ben Kincaid was impervious even to sabotage. The Teflon trial lawyer. “Let’s just forget the whole thing, sir,” Ben said softly.

“Done. So tell me what’s going on in the case.”

Ben reviewed the document production, the depositions he had taken of the plaintiffs, the hearing on the motion to compel, and the deposition of Andrew Consetti. “I’m planning to drive to Oklahoma City to talk to Al Austin and Bernie King.”

Crichton’s head rose. “Oh? Why do you need to do that?”

“Consetti identified both of them m his deposition.”

“Al Austin is no longer with the company.”

“Nonetheless, Consetti identified him as someone involved in the design of the XKL-1.”

“Have the plaintiffs requested his deposition?.”

“No. Not yet anyway.”

“What about Bernie King?”

“Again, no.”

“Then what’s the point of talking to them?”

Ben shifted in his chair. “Mr. Crichton…I’m an officer of the court. I have an obligation to fully and fairly understand what took place. Plus, I have to know the whole story, to shore up any loose ends, to understand our weak points as well as our strong points, and to identify any exposure the Apollo Consortium may have.”

“Bernie King is a very busy man. He’s top dog in the OKC office. He runs a seven-hundred-man shop. He doesn’t have time to play around with lawyers.”

“I won’t take any more time than neces—”

“Look, Kincaid, it’s your case, but I don’t think you should waste your time, much less the time of other important Apollo personnel. Find out whatever you can from the other side, then file your motion for summary judgment. I see no need for you to be investigating your own client.”

He lowered his mug to the table, watching Ben very carefully. “After all, you already know what position you have to take.”

B
EN MUTTERED MOST OF
the way to Oklahoma City, his hands tightly clenching the steering wheel.

“I got to hand it to you,” Rob said. He was seated in the passenger seat of Ben’s Honda Accord. “Most people would’ve backed off. Crichton made it clear he didn’t think you should go to Oklahoma City, and here you are, doing it anyway.”

“I have a long history of not being smart enough to take a hint,” Ben said.

“Don’t softsoap me, Ben. You’re the kind of guy who believes that if a job is going to be done, it should be done right. You’re going to handle this case properly, regardless of who or what gets in the way. I suppose that’s why Crichton thinks you’re such a super litigator.”

“We’ll see what he thinks after today.”

Ben exited off Northwest Expressway. “What’s the name of the place where we’re meeting King?”

“It’s called Knockers.”

“Knockers? What kind of name is that for a restaurant?”

“Beats me. I’ve never been there. Crichton recommends it to everyone going to Oklahoma City.”

A few minutes later, Ben pulled into the Knockers parking lot. The place had to be popular; almost every spot was taken.

“The food must be sensational to attract a crowd like this,” Ben said. “I wonder if I can get some Buffalo chicken wings. That sounds great.”

“Hope springs eternal.” They climbed out of the car and walked to the restaurant.

Knockers probably did have some sort of decor, but whatever it was, Ben didn’t notice. His eyes, like Rob’s and everyone else’s, were immediately drawn to the staff. The entirely and without exception female staff. The entirely and without exception young blond female staff. Bimbo paradise.

The “hostesses” all wore the same uniform: tight white T-shirts and pink spandex short shorts. The T-shirts were tied, quite snugly, around the midriff. The short shorts started low on the hips and ended high on the thigh. And as was immediately apparent, they weren’t wearing anything else.

“Can we help you?” A nubile young hostess looped her arm around Ben’s, giggling. “Can I show you to a table? A booth? Anything you want, I’ll be happy to provide.”

Ben noticed Rob had acquired a similar escort. “A booth will be fine. We’re meeting a man named Bernie King. He may already be here.”

“Oh, Bernie!” Rob’s escort squealed. “We love Bernie. He’s in the back.”

Ben followed her swaying spandex to a boom in the rear. He marveled at how crowded me restaurant was; every office building in Oklahoma City must be feeding the place. He also noticed that every patron, without exception, was male.

Bernie’s booth was in front of the big screen television. Another T-shirted waitress was standing on his table, a hula hoop revolving around her hips.

“All right, Jenny!” Ben’s escort screamed. “Shake ’em!”

Jenny smiled giddily and accelerated her rhythmic revolutions.

Ben ducked under the hula hoop and tried to introduce himself. “Mr. King? I’m Ben Kincaid. This is Rob Fielder.”

King shifted his glazed gaze slightly. “Happy to meet you.” He returned his attention to the waitress on the table, then sighed. “All right, Jenny. That will be enough. I’m afraid we have some business to discuss.”