Blind Justice (3 page)

The judge nodded. “Lotsa luck.”

Ben hustled to the podium. He was going to have to rehabilitate this witness like he had never rehabilitated before.

“Amy. You did testify that your neck hurt shortly after the accident, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes. Terribly so.”

“Was it just another spasm like the others you’d had before?”
Please, God, be with me now!

“Oh no. It was much worse.”

Yes!
“So the pain after the accident was much worse.”

“Much much more so. It had never really hurt before. After the accident, though, the pain was almost incapacitating.”

“Do you know why?”

“According to Dr. Carter, the whiplash effect when Mr. Lombardi’s car rammed into me caused a cervical disk between two cervical vertebrae to impinge upon a nerve.”

“And that’s a permanent injury, isn’t it, Amy?”

“I’m afraid so. Although the medication, surgery, and therapy will help, the doctors say the condition will never entirely disappear.”

“So even if the accident didn’t instigate your neck problems, it would be fair to say it seriously aggravated the preexisting condition?”

“Oh yes. It’s been much worse and more frequent since the accident.”

Praise all that’s holy. “Thank you, Amy. I have no more questions, your honor.”

“Very well,” the judge said. “Gentlemen, we’ll resume at one o’clock. And incidentally, Mr. Kincaid,” she added, “nice save.”

B
EN GREETED AMY SIMMONS
in his office lobby, carefully sidestepping the chickens. He hoped if he acted as if they weren’t there, she wouldn’t ask any questions.

“I just wanted to thank you again for taking my case, Mr. Kincaid,” Amy said. “All the other lawyers I contacted turned me down flat.”

“Well, soft tissue injuries are difficult to prove.”

“You were wonderful in the courtroom today. Especially after my cross-examination.”

“That was nothing special. I just had to adjust our theory of recovery to the eggshell skull doctrine. If the negligent party aggravates a preexisting injury, he can still be held liable for the increased pain and suffering. No big deal.”

“I thought you were brilliant. I guess the jury thought so, too.”

Ben shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. They only awarded you ten thousand dollars in damages. Fortunately, the other side settled, so you’ll be spared an appeal, but you’ll have to spend half the ten thou just to cover your preexisting medical bills, much less pay for future expenses.”

“It isn’t your fault I never told you I had neck problems before the accident. I just assumed everyone knew.”

“Uh, no.”

“Anyway, my brother-in-law is in law school at TU and he told me the verdict was excellent, given the circumstances. So before I do anything else, I want to pay your fee.”

Since Amy couldn’t afford to pay an hourly rate or a flat fee, Ben had regretfully taken the case on a contingency fee, which meant he didn’t get paid unless and until they recovered from the defendant. “Amy, if you give me a third, you won’t have enough for your own medical expenses.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said. “A deal is a deal. Here, I have the check already written out.”

She handed him a check for $3,333.

That would pay a great many overdue bills, Ben mused. But no. He folded the check and tore it into tiny pieces.

“Sorry, Amy,” he said, “but it’s always the lawyer’s prerogative to waive his fee, and that’s what I’m doing.” He let the check shreds fall to the floor. “You keep your money and get the treatment you need.”

Amy gazed at Ben, her eyes sparkling. Wordlessly, she took his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek. Then she gathered her purse and left the office.

“Wow,” Jones said, looking up from his card table. “Whattaguy.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Point of order, though, Boss. Since you gave up your only prospect of recovering a fee anytime in the near future, how are you going to pay me?”

“With the milk of human kindness,” Ben replied.

“Nothing personal, but I’d prefer a form of legal tender that’s accepted at Kmart.”

The front door breezed open, and Christina bustled in carrying a package.

“A member of the opposition,” Ben said. “I hope you didn’t come here to gloat.”

“Gloat? Hey, you got a jury verdict in your favor.”

Ben shrugged. “For peanuts.”

“That was hardly your fault. Anyway, forget the trial.
Que será será.
I came to bring you a birthday present.”

Jones straightened. “Birthday? You mean today really is your birthday?”

“Oops.” Christina closed her eyes.
“Pardonnez-moi.”

“Boss, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. How old are you?”

“Thirty,” Ben replied, “which is exactly why I didn’t tell you. I thought you might be tempted to indulge in black balloons or strippers or other such birthday shenanigans.”

“I prefer those guys who dress up like gorillas and deliver pizza—”

“My point exactly.” Ben examined Christina’s package. “That’s not my birthday present, is it?”

“Of course it is,” she said, pushing it toward him. “What’s your problem?”

“Well, I can’t help but notice that the box appears to have airholes.”

“Aren’t you the amateur detective? C’mon, open it up.”

Ben set the package on Jones’s card table, pulled the bow loose, and removed the lid. Inside, he found a cat. A huge, black cat with a white ring around her nose.

“Don’t you love her already?” Christina asked.

“Christina…I’m not really a cat person—”

“Oh, pish tosh. How would you know? You’ve never had a pet in your life.”

“I like living alone.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Christina said. “You’ve been living alone too long. It’s not healthy.”

“Are you afraid I’ll have an arrested social development? Won’t learn to play well with other children?”

“I just want you to get it through that thick skull of yours that you don’t have to do everything all by yourself.”

“In my experience, the less contact I have with other people, the better. For them and me.”

“You’re too old to be a lone wolf. It’s time to start accepting help from others, to develop a family of friends.”

“I’ve already had a family,” Ben muttered. “It didn’t work out.”

“That’s so wrong, Ben.” She lifted the cat out of the box. “And that’s what this little kitty is going to teach you.”

“This little kitty? That monster must weigh twenty pounds!”

“She is a bit on the heavy side. She used to belong to my girlfriend, Sally Zacharias, but she’s getting married and moving into a no-pets condo. She asked if I could find her a good home with a kind, nurturing master.”

“So you’re giving her to me?”

“I’m sure you could learn to be nurturing. In time.” She passed the cat to Ben.

He took the cat awkwardly and held her like a science project. “What’s her name?”

“Sally called her Giselle. I suppose you can call her anything you like.”

“Giselle. That’s a good name. Very classical music.” He stroked her back timidly with one finger. Giselle purred happily.

“See?” Christina said. “You two are getting along famously already. Here’s a couple of cans of cat food, just to get you through the night.”

Ben read the labels. “What’s Feline’s Fancy?”

“Gourmet cat food. It’s all she’ll eat. I hate to break it to you, but it’s the most expensive brand on the market, by far.”

“If she’s coming home with me, she’ll have to develop more mundane tastes.”

“Yeah, well, good luck. I have a food dish and litter box and various other cat essentials at my apartment. I’ll bring them by tomorrow.”

“Why don’t you bring them by tonight? You can see how we’re getting along?”

“Sorry, pal. I have an appointment.”

Ben cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? With whom?”

She hesitated. “Tony Lombardi.”

“Dating a client? That doesn’t seem smart.”

“It’s not a date. Exactly. I’m taking some settlement papers over for him to sign. Besides, the trial is over. Tony and I spent a lot of time together during the last two months. It was only natural for him to ask me out.” She smoothed her silky red hair. “After all, I am devastatingly attractive.”

“I thought Lombardi seemed very tense in court today. Totally stressed out. At the time, I assumed he was worried about the trial. Now I realize it was because he had a date with you.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Christina, this does not sound like a good idea to me.”

Christina fluttered her eyelids. “Benjamin Kincaid. I believe you’re jealous!”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I’m just concerned for your well-being. As I would be for any friend.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am!”

She grinned. “If you say so.”

“Anyway, it’s none of my business. Just try to stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me, Ben. I can take care of myself.” She headed toward the door. “Have fun with the cat. And happy birthday.”

The second Christina left the office, Giselle began to mewl.

“Calm down,” Ben said. “It looks like you’re stuck with me. At least for a little while.” He stared deeply into Giselle’s marble green eyes. “I wonder if you would be any good at hunting chickens?”

C
HRISTINA SHOVED ANOTHER BOX
of documents onto the top shelf. If Reynolds didn’t insist on requesting every document generated during the last ten years by each of his adversaries in every case he had, there might actually be some wall space available for a poster—maybe even a photo or two. Instead, she was stuck with an office that looked more like a government storage depot. No windows, and temporary shelving lining all four walls. Oh, well, what did she expect, being a lowly legal assistant? She was permitted to save Reynolds’s butt on a daily basis, but a decent office would be entirely out of the question.

She hoisted the last box of documents onto the shelf. There. Once she had Lombardi’s signature on the dotted line, the Simmons case would be officially retired.

The after-hours receptionist, Candice, appeared in Christina’s doorway. “Message for you.”

“Thanks.” Christina took the pink message slip. It was from Tony Lombardi:
Sorry—Emergency business meeting—A thousand apologies—How about meeting me at my apartment?
—
I may be late
—
Help yourself to a drink.
His address was written at the bottom.

Hmmph. Well, at least he wasn’t standing her up. Not exactly. The address was about fifteen miles outside Tulsa, but she knew how to get there. It seemed a bit forward—inviting her to his apartment—but it would probably save time. Heck, she was a modern, liberated woman; she could meet him anywhere she wanted. Even if her mother wouldn’t approve.

She crumpled the message and tossed it into the trash can. You’re being silly, she told herself. She grabbed her briefcase and left the office. I’ll just do as he asks. After all, why shouldn’t I? No harm in that.

Ben parked his Accord close to the corner, beneath the street lamp. It meant he would have to walk half the block to reach his rooming house, but it somewhat increased the chances that his tires would still be there in the morning.

He grabbed a large bag of groceries and cat food. After depositing Giselle in his room, he’d made a run to Petty’s for supplies. Gourmet cat food—that was the stupidest Madison Avenue marketing ploy he’d heard of yet. He’d bought an assortment of reasonably priced cat foods. Giselle would just have to learn to like one of them—that was all there was to it.

He headed toward his house, past a row of faded yellow brick buildings, most of them dating back to WWII. Nothing ever seemed to change on the North Side.

The Singleton twins, Joni and Jami, were sitting on the steps outside, talking to two Hispanic boys wearing tight white T-shirts. Imagine—twins named Singleton. Ben had tried to discuss it with them once, but they didn’t seem to grasp the irony.

“Hey, Benjamin,” Joni said, fluffing her curly brown locks. “How go the wars?”

“Oh, about the same.”

“Get any of my friends out of prison today?”

“Not yet,” Ben replied, “but the day isn’t over.”

“True.”

“Hey, Benjamin,” Jami said, as he passed by. “I don’t want to catch you sneaking any women into your place tonight, understand?” All four of them laughed uproariously.

“All right,” Ben said, trying to be a good sport. “I promise not to let you catch me.” He opened the torn screen door and stepped into the building.

There were only four rooms in the house. Mrs. Marmelstein, the landlady, took one ground floor flat, and Mr. Perry, whom Ben had never met, took the other. Ben had one of the upstairs flats; the Singleton twins and the rest of their family had the other.

Ben knocked on Mrs. Marmelstein’s door. He heard
Wheel of Fortune
blaring inside, then her feet skittering toward the door.

“Oh, Ben,” Mrs. Marmelstein said, opening the door. “I’m so glad you stopped by. I don’t know what to do.”

“What happened?”

“A man from PSO came by. A very nasty man. Terribly impolite. Told me I hadn’t paid the electric bill yet.”

Uh-oh.

“Of course, I told him that just wasn’t possible. I have a professional attorney on retainer to supervise my business affairs, and I’m quite sure he wouldn’t neglect paying a trivial little utility bill.”

“Of course not,” Ben said. “Why don’t I take a look at your books, though, so I can try to figure out what their problem is?”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind.” She pointed to her kitchen table. She already had the records waiting for him.

Ben examined the collection of shoeboxes and loose-leaf notebooks that constituted Mrs. Marmelstein’s
books.
Since he’d moved into the room upstairs, Ben had tried to help her with varying degrees of success. Mrs. Marmelstein had moved to Tulsa in the 1940s (when the North Side was a swank neighborhood) with her husband, one of the oil barons of the early days. The Marmelsteins had owned properties throughout Tulsa, had been members of Tulsa high society, and had traveled all over the world. Mr. Marmelstein died in the late Seventies, and the oil boom died soon after that. Mrs. Marmelstein’s holdings dwindled to next to nothing. She still owned this building, a low-rent four-room house in the Bad Part of Town, but that was about it. Her only regular income of any significance came from rent payments. Unfortunately, Mrs. Marmelstein still thought she was as rich as ever. Ben did the best he could to stretch, save, delay, and otherwise make her limited income satisfy her creditors.