Primary Justice (Ben Kincaid series Book 1) (23 page)

Ben stared at Derek in disbelief. His mind was frozen in the mental equivalent of a gaping jaw. “I … I—don’t see how …”

“I don’t see how you did it either, Kincaid. You’ve been involved in two minor cases, you’ve only been on the Vancouver case for one day, and suddenly, you’re in-house counsel. Sanguine said something about admiring your aggressiveness and spunk. I don’t know what you’ve been doing during your visits to his office, but whatever it was, it worked like a wet dream. You’ve taken a giant step ahead of your peers.”

He paused, then decided in favor of another of his characteristic blasts of brutal honesty. “Frankly, Kincaid, I didn’t think you’d be the one to take a giant step ahead of the wolf pack. You struck me as too meek and mild for Raven, and especially for Sanguine. I guess I was honest with you about that. Well, I suppose it’s Sanguine’s decision.”

“What would in-house counsel do?” Ben asked hesitantly.

“Oh, find out what’s going on, first. They’re so disorganized at Sanguine, they’ve got cases pending that they’ve lost track of or totally forgotten about. Sanguine’s got local counsel working for him all over the globe, but no one back home looking over their shoulders and supervising the work. Before long, I expect you’ll start building your own staff of in-house lawyers. You’ll be in charge of other people, lawyers older than yourself, probably. They could hardly be much younger, could they? You’ll also take care of the day-to-day legal minutiae that comes to an operation the size of Sanguine Enterprises on a regular basis. Of course, litigation matters, especially the big money cases, you’ll still want to refer out to Raven, Tucker.”

“But—” Ben found himself sputtering like an infant. Something was wrong, but he was unable to express that to Derek. “I never wanted to be an administrator. I wanted to litigate. I wanted to try lawsuits.”

Derek waved his hand in the air. “Kid, you can make this job whatever you want. It’s your blank check. Speaking of checks, you’ll maintain your firm salary, and
in addition
, you’ll be receiving a sizable stipend from Sanguine. Eventually, they’ll take over your entire salary. Plus, you’ll receive a signing bonus and various corporate benefits. Kincaid, you’ve been working here less than a month, and you’re
rich
!”

Ben fell back in his chair. It sounded too good to be true. Much too good.

“All you have to do is play your job right and keep Sanguine happy. Remember,” Derek added, the expression in his voice changing somewhat, “we’re
all
counting on you. Sanguine asked for you and you alone. If you fall, there’s no guarantee he’ll choose someone else from this firm to take your place.”

Derek paused to let his words sink in. Then his face suddenly brightened. “Now, congratulations, you wild man. Get out of here. Go celebrate. Take the rest of the afternoon off. We’re going to have a reception this evening at my house for some key Sanguine people you’ll need to meet, and some of our attorneys who work on Sanguine matters. You’ll be the guest of honor, Kincaid.”

Without another word, Derek returned his attention to the tall stack of papers on his desk. In a daze, Ben managed to find his feet and make his way back to his own office. Too much. Too much.

B
EN HAD TO CONCEDE
that Derek’s home could not be faulted for failing to reflect the personality of the owner. The house itself, a huge rectangular, white-brick affair that might have passed for a mausoleum, towered in the foreground. The cabana beside the Olympic-size swimming pool, also in white brick, looked like a miniature of the house.

The highlight of the patio area, however, was the pool itself. On the bottom of the pool, shimmering beneath the surface, was a mermaid, her head in the deep end, her tail in the shallow. The mermaid was not merely painted on; she was sculpted, in three-dimensional splendor. Best of all, the mermaid was painted with anatomical accuracy and detail. Each green scale on her tail could be discerned; the pink nipples on her ample breasts were visible from any point in the backyard. The voluptuous sea maiden seemed to rise from the surface of the pool and beckon the innocent to a watery doom.

As if this wasn’t enough, a clear acrylic screen was built into the wall of the deep end of the pool. From a staircase outside, guests could descend into a sunken room and, without getting a toenail wet, observe the merlady and her court. The potential uses of this architectural wonder staggered Ben’s imagination.

Ben was trapped in a conversational clique with Derek and Sanguine. Derek seemed perfectly at home; had he moved back in? Maybe Louise had gone somewhere else—home to Mother, perhaps. Derek was talking about himself, Sanguine was listening, and Ben was bored. Tidwell was also there, but he wasn’t saying much. He seemed to be out of sorts. In fact, he had yet to tell a single lawyer joke. Perhaps, Ben hypothesized, he’s concerned that the presence of in-house counsel will diminish his influence with his boss.

“Speak into my good ear,” Derek said, amid a chain of reminiscences about an antitrust case Derek had litigated for Sanguine several months before. “I don’t like to admit it, but I might as well tell you, Joe, I’ve got some hearing loss in my right ear. When I was in the Coast Guard, I spent a miserable winter night doing swimming drills on Chesapeake Bay. The wind was so cold it could freeze your eardrum shut. Total aural paralysis. My poor ear has never recovered.” Out of Derek’s eyesight, Sanguine winked at Ben.

“That explains a lot of the things I’ve heard you say in oral argument,” Sanguine said to Derek. “I’ve always suspected you couldn’t hear the judge’s questions.”

Derek took a sip from his martini. “Remember the oral argument in Charleston?” he said. “The personal jurisdiction question?”

A misty-eyed expression crossed Sanguine’s face. “That was a classic. Were you in on that, Tidwell?”

“No, sir,” he said politely. He smoothed the few hairs stretched across his bald head. “I was checking out a potential location for the Phoenix franchise that week.”

“Well, you missed a classic,” Sanguine continued. “This poor legal assistant kept trying to pass Dick a note while he was speaking, but he didn’t notice her, and she kept whispering and
psst
ing till finally the judge himself rose from the bench and told Dick to turn around and take the damn note!”

Derek and Sanguine laughed heartily. Ben did the best he could.

“She was a cute little redheaded number,” Sanguine said after he calmed down. “What was her name again?”

“Christina,” Derek said, smiling. “Christina McCord or McLaine or something like that.”

Ben considered correcting him, then thought better of it.

“We ought to work with her again, Dick,” Sanguine said, winking. He nudged Derek with his elbow. Derek’s drink spilled onto his hand, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I liked her.”

Derek countersmirked. “Would you like that, Joe? I think I could make her available to you. If you catch my meaning.”

This was more than Ben felt able to hear. Boring nostalgia trips and macho posturing he could handle, but he drew the line at snide remarks about a woman who was currently performing a hellatious task for him as a personal favor. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I need a fresh drink.”

“Sure, kid,” Derek said, still ha-haing to himself. “Drink up. This is your night.”

Ben walked toward the bar table. The whole party gave him the creeps. Especially Derek. Derek has been nothing but antagonistic and arrogant since the day I came to the firm, Ben thought, but today, he’s hosting a party in my honor. Not forty-eight hours ago, Sanguine was hostile, suspicious, and barely civil to me, but today, we’re old drinking buddies.

Marianne and Greg were standing in the bar line chatting. Greg saw Ben approaching, threw his arm around Ben, and squeezed his neck tightly in the crook of his arm. “My old buddy!” he screamed. “Ben! How’s it going, big guy?”

Ben wasn’t sure if Greg was drunk or if this was just his boisterous way of maintaining his status as the prince of party animals. “I’m fine, Greg. Nice coat, by the way.”

“What, this old rag?” He flashed his lightweight cashmere jacket. “You like the way it hangs?”

“Well, I like it better than that white
Brideshead Revisited
number you wore the first day of work.”

“Yeah, I thought it was time for an image revamp. This makes me look more like a regular guy, don’t you think?”

“Greg … that’s
cashmere
.”

Greg glanced at his jacket. “Huh. Yeah, I guess it is. Hey, this is some party, isn’t it? I bet Marianne had no idea the perks would start perking this soon, huh?” He jabbed Marianne in the side. “And I guess we’ve got you to thank for this one, Ben-man!” He gave Ben another squeeze around the shoulders. “You’re some kind of animal, big guy.”

Ben nodded pleasantly.

“Hey,” Greg said, his eyes suddenly growing as wide as his smile. “Remember that time at the Bare Fax, you and me? Was that awesome or what?” Greg laughed heartily enough for both of them, which was fortunate, since Ben wasn’t laughing.

“Yeah, those were the days,” Ben said. He couldn’t believe they were reminiscing about an event from last week as if it were a golden memory from yesteryear.

Greg took a gin and tonic from the bartender. “Well, I better move on. More flesh to press and shareholders to
im
press.” He socked Ben on the side of his arm. “But I guess you know all about that, huh, big guy?” Greg turned away and blended into the crowd.

Ben and Marianne looked at one another. “What the hell was that all about?” Ben asked.

Marianne smiled thinly. “I think you just got promoted from fellow associate to big guy,” she answered. She took her rum and Coke from the bartender.

“I guess he heard the announcement about in-house counsel.”

“Apparently,” Marianne said. “Especially the part about how you’d be assigning Sanguine work to attorneys of your choice.”

“Really?” Ben responded. “I didn’t know that.” Marianne stared at him. “Talk about the way of the world. If you’re a woman, you can bust your butt your whole life and never get a decent job. If you’re a man, they fall into your lap so fast, you don’t even know what you’ve got.”

Ben took his Seven-Up from the bartender. He noticed that Marianne had changed her hairstyle. Her straight black hair was pulled back in a tight bun.

“I guess that’s intended to make you look more professional?” Ben asked.

“What? Oh, the hairdo. Yeah, well …”

“At least you’re not still worrying about your name,” Ben said.

“I’m not,” Marianne said, “but that reminds me. Have you met my date?” Ben shook his head. “He’s around here somewhere. Tall, good-looking fellow. Thick mustache. His name is Kevin. Actually, his full name is Charles Kevin Bryant. He’s an architect. But I can’t decide whether I should introduce him as Kevin or Charles. You know, to make the right impression.” She reflected for a moment. “Maybe C. Kevin.”

C. Kevin? Ben tried to keep a straight face. C. Kevin walk. C. Kevin run. “Not very conversational, is it?”

“I suppose not. But Kevin sounds so little-kiddish. I want people to understand that he, too, is a young professional. I don’t want anybody to get the idea that I’m going out with a bum.” She took a drink from her rum and Coke. “What do you think, Ben? I trust your judgment. I want to do the right thing.”

“I’m sure you will,” he murmured.

Marianne adjusted her glasses and peered over Ben’s shoulder. “Oh my
God
, Ben,” she said slowly. “You’re not going to believe this.”

Ben turned to look in the same general direction as Marianne. Alvin was just arriving—and Alvin had brought a date.

Ben started to look away, but before he could, Alvin caught his eye. He started walking in Ben’s direction.

“I suppose you know who she is,” Ben said under his breath.

“Do I look like a hermit?” Marianne responded. “Of course I know.”

Alvin walked up to Ben, all smiles, and thrust his hand forward. “Shake, partner.” Marianne received the same jovial treatment. “I’d like you both to meet my fiancée, Candy Cordell. Candy, this is Ben Kincaid and Marianne Gunnerson.”

It was her, all right. As little attention as Ben had managed to pay to her face on that fateful night, he nonetheless recognized the multitalented dancer-waitress from the Bare Fax. Her red hair was gathered up and separated into two pigtails, which seemed to remove at least five years from her age. The low lighting on the patio also seemed kinder to her than the harsh, no-secrets lighting of the Bare Fax. She was wearing blue jeans and a white blouse with a plunging neckline and small holes throughout. It was a blouse that would make her very popular with the men at the party and very unpopular with the women.

Ben yanked Alvin by the arm and pulled him aside. “What are you
doing
?” he asked in a harsh whisper. “This is professional suicide.”

Alvin looked at him gravely. “If she’s going to be my wife, Ben,
and she is
, they’re going to have to meet her sometime. Besides, they don’t have to know about … you know, the past.” The subject of their conversation interrupted them before Ben had a chance to rebut. “Oh, I remember you,” Candy squealed, as if finding a long-lost friend. “You were there in—”

“Yes, that was me all right,” Ben said, cutting her off. “What madcap days they were.”

“Excuse me. Can I cut in?”

Ben jumped, startled. It was Derek again, with Sanguine hanging on his shoulder. They both looked hours drunker than they had when he left them a few minutes before.

Derek spotted Candy and leered at her in a not-very-subtle manner. Oh well, Ben thought, I suppose she’s accustomed to it.

“Introduce us to the young lady, Mr. Hager,” Derek said, grinning obscenely.

“With pleasure, sir,” Alvin said, rising to the occasion. Introductions were had all around. Alvin placed heavy emphasis on the words
my fiancée
.

Derek edged closer to Candy. “I hope you won’t think me sexist if I say, in all candor, that you are a beautiful woman.”

“Not at all. Call ’em like you see ’em, that’s what I always tell my customers.” She laughed boisterously.