The Bad Judgment Series: The Complete Series (46 page)

Do not fuck this up,
I wrote to Lester Max.
If these get delivered as directed tomorrow morning, Walker will give you the codes for the corporate account. And then you have to follow through.
What I meant was:
You have to send us the rest of the money after you take your cut, or we’ll come find you and kill you.
But it made me uncomfortable to write it, so I abstained.

I sent the email, finished my wine, and got up to go help Walker pack.

But then I heard something. Something I wasn’t used to hearing in the quiet of the condo. It wasn’t the ocean outside, or the sound of Walker pacing, the crackling sound of the AM radio and the announcers, or the sound of the printer spitting out yet another document.

It was something else. A scratching noise. And it was getting louder.

All of the hairs on my arm stood up as I slowly turned around, towards the noise.

And then I opened my mouth and tried to scream and scream. But no sound came out, just air. Laced with an unmistakably faint note of horror.

I
n the nanosecond
before I tried to scream, I saw something in the jamb of the front door. It looked like a sword, pushed through the slit of the door, glittery and silver and trying to get enough leverage to break through. That’s what the scratching sound was. It was the sword moving up and down the crack, searching for a weakness, something to slash.

I’d had a nightmare like that once when I was a kid. Almost exactly the same. At first, in the dark, all I could see was a sword, coming in through the door.

I didn’t wake up, screaming, until I saw what came in next.

It was weird how time slowed down for me in that instant. There was what was actually going on, simultaneously occurring with what was happening inside my head. While I was trying to scream, I remembered that nightmare I’d had as a kid. I’d been eight, spending the night at my grandmother’s house. I remember my mother asking me, later:
Where did such a horrible nightmare come from?
And I couldn’t tell her; I didn’t know.

Then I thought — at the back of my mind, I managed to have another thought while I watched the blade in the door — that I should say his name. So my silent scream could turn into
his
name, the name of the only man who could help me, and that maybe then he could hear me and save me.
Walker.

“WALKER!”
I tried to force my voice out, but it wouldn’t come. Like I was still trapped in that childhood nightmare, or like I was underwater. No one could rescue me because no one knew what was happening. I was trapped, alone, drowning in my own terror.

I didn’t see Walker, and I didn’t hear him. All I heard was the scratching, and then a creaking, and then a splintering as the sword pried the door open.

And then Norris Phaland fell through it, into our entryway.

He got up quick. Too quick. He must have wanted something pretty badly. It was at that moment I realized that he probably wanted me, and my heart shuddered. I also realized that his weapon wasn’t a sword. It was more like a machete, some sort Asian, super-huge dagger, the type that a troubled high-schooler might choose for a wall decoration.

“No,” I said, my voice finally coming out as a plaintive croak. “Not like this.”

He dusted his pants off with his free hand and laughed a little. For the first time since I’d met him, he sounded genuinely pleased. He held up the machete in front of me.

“How else did you think it would end?” He asked, clearly enjoying himself. “Did you think you and your client were gonna run away together, live happily ever after? Did you think you were gonna throw me under a bus and come back to claim your office at
my
law firm?

“I don’t think so,” he said, and he looked calm, content. “You never were one of us.”

I cleared my throat and the noise from it reminded me that I could, in fact, make noise. “Thank God,” I finally managed to say, to rasp out. And then:
“WALKER!”
It came out hoarsely, and not nearly as loud as I meant it, but it came out.

He ran in, looking wild, just as Norris grabbed me and held the machete up to my throat.

Walker pulled the gun from his waist and aimed his gun at Norris’s head.

“No,” I said, as Norris tightened his grip. I could feel the blade of the knife against my throat. I got the same sick feeling I got when I was carrying a pair of scissors, the blade too close for comfort.

Except this was a bigger blade. Much, much bigger. I was afraid to swallow.

But I still made myself talk to Walker, who was not shaking as he held up the barrel of his gun. “Don’t shoot him in the head,” I said. “He doesn’t deserve to die yet. He has to go to prison.”

Walker pulled the safety off; I heard the click.

“Let him go to prison!” I pleaded. “Let him get raped and beat up! Please! He doesn’t deserve to die!”

“Yes, he does,” Walker said, but in that instant, he moved the aim of the gun and shot Norris in the leg.

Unfortunately, I startled and jumped when the gun went off. And the knife sliced into my neck. I could feel blood, hot and wet, start to spill out of it as Norris and I hit the floor, his arm still wrapped around me. The knife clattered down next to us. Norris reached for it, and Walker shot him again, this time in the shoulder. Norris was thrown back against the floor, breathing hard, his glasses knocked off his face. I was crumpled in a ball next to him, clutching my neck.

My hands were still wrapped around my neck when Walker got to me. First he grabbed the knife and threw it into the kitchen, out of reach, and then he gently pulled my hands away from the wound. I saw that they were covered in blood and for an instant, I considered passing out. “It’s okay,” Walker said, inspecting me. “As long as we keep something on it. It’s bloody, but it’s not big and it’s not deep.” He ripped off his T-shirt, balled it up and put it on my neck. “Can you hold this?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said, afraid to nod.

He gently moved me across the floor, away from Norris, and then he turned back to him.

“Go ahead and kill me,” Norris said to Walker. He sounded winded, but not upset. “It was going to be you two or me: that was my plan. I don’t care if I don’t go back. It’ll be my final triumph. Everyone will think I died a hero, chasing you down here, trying to bring you back to face charges. I’ll finally get some credit for something.”

“How did you find us?” Walker asked. He still had his gun pointed at him. It was now pointed at his face, I noticed, the world getting woozy around me again.

“We figured you would go to Miami eventually, to check out the office,” Norris said. “So I decided to fly down and check. Also, I knew that Lester had been down here recently, and I don’t trust him.”

Walker snorted but Norris ignored him. “I asked around at all the hotels over there, checked the office, but I couldn’t find anything. So I had David go back through your credit card statements for the last few years, which we had, courtesy of discovery,” he said, “and he found charges in Boca Grande. I figured since you’d been here before, and it was close, it was as good a place to start as any. So I drove over, scoped out the island, and then it was like karma smiled down at me — I saw Blondie driving back over the bridge. And that was that.”

“You thought of that by yourself?” Walker asked, skeptically.

“The reports of my incompetencies are grossly exaggerated,” Norris said, and now he sounded a little snippy.

“Well, when you consider that you’re on my floor, shot twice, and asking me to kill you — those reports might be closer to home than you think,” Walker said.

Norris was quiet for a second, and then he sighed. “No one will ever believe you, you know. And when they find me, you’ll be charged with another murder. It’ll nail the lids to your coffin.”

He coughed once. “I’m ready now,” Norris said, stoically.

“Good,” Walker said, and kicked him square in the balls. Norris writhed and tried to breathe in; it was an awful sound, like he had a refrigerator on his chest, squeezing the air out of him.

Walker held the gun up again.

“Don’t do it,” I said. “Remember the big picture. What we want. He needs to be held accountable for what he’s done.”

“Don’t listen to that little slut,” Norris wheezed, from his spot on the floor. “You send me back, it’s my word against yours. And I have an impeccable record. I’m on four different charitable fundraising boards, for crissakes, and I’ve never even had a speeding ticket. But you and your whore have a lot to answer for. Good luck with that.”

Walker pointed the gun at his face again and I tried to sit up to stop him, but the world got black around the edges and I slumped back to the floor.

“Unlike Nicole — who is a better person than both of us put together, I might add — I actually have no issue with killing you right now,” Walker said, his voice flat and dangerous.

“Good for you,” Norris said, goading him. “Show her how a real man takes charge.”

Walker brought the gun over so it was inches from Norris’s face. I couldn’t breathe, watching him.

And then he whacked him with it, with full force across the face, so that Norris instantly shut up and stopped moving.

“Fucking misogynists,” Walker said, straightening up. “They just don’t get it.”

“I love you,” I said, and then allowed myself to pass out.

I
came to sometime later
. It was dark except for the bedside lamp.

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear him,” Walker said, sitting at the side of the bed. “I’ll never listen to the game again.”

“S’okay,” I mumbled. My hands fluttered up to my neck, where I could feel lots of gauze and tape covering the cut. “I couldn’t scream at first. No sound would come out. It was like I was in shock, or something.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Walker said, gently stroking my cheek. “Seeing his ugly face crashing through your door, holding a knife like that — it’s not for the faint of heart. I should have been there.”

“You were just one room away, like we agreed,” I said. “So no guilt.” I smiled at him and tried swallowing. It worked, but I was afraid any movement was going to make my neck start bleeding again.

“You’re okay,” Walker assured me. “You could probably use a stitch or two, but that would be in a perfect world. In
our
world, the tape will do the trick.”

“Okay,” I said, “thanks.”

I was quiet for a second, just letting him play with my hair, before I had to ask the inevitable. “Is he still here?”

“Yep,” Walker said.

“Is he alive?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, that is also a yep,” Walker said. “You haven’t been out for long. He’s still passed out, though. I taped his mouth shut, tied him up, and tried to patch the door so none of our neighbors call the police.”

“What’re we going to do with him?” I asked. Norris was
not
invited to the Bahamas. No way, no how.

“I’ve made arrangements to have him transported back to Boston,” Walker said, and smirked. “Two of Teddy’s friends.”

“Do you trust them?” I asked.

“I trust them enough,” he said. “I trust that I’m going to pay them enough — half up front, half upon delivery — that no one else will pay them more than me. So there’s that. That breeds a certain sort of loyalty.”

“What day is it?” I asked.

“Wednesday.”

“Perfect,” I said, suddenly feeling much better. “If they leave tomorrow morning, they’ll make it to the office just in time for Norris’s surprise party.”

T
he sun
finally came out the next morning; the turquoise water sparkled like it didn’t even remember looking gray and rowdy all week. Teddy’s friends, Shawn and Bobby, showed up early. We were waiting for them. Norris Phaland was awake, but he had not been moved from his spot on the floor.

“Dude, what happened to him?” the one called Shawn asked, looking at all the dried blood and the tape.

“He looks like he pissed himself,” the other one, Bobby, said. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Gross, man,” he said to Norris.

Norris sighed from beneath his tape.

“The drive takes less than twenty-four hours, even if you factor in a couple of stops,” Walker said. “Only stop when you need to, and obviously, don’t speed, avoid crowded places, etcetera. Put him in the trunk if you have to, but make sure you don’t kill him.

“We want you to take him right to this address tomorrow morning,” he said, handing them a Post-it note. “That’s downtown Boston. Park the car on the road, and one of you go in and find the guard. His name is Toby. Tell Toby that Mr. Walker sent you, and that you have a very special package that needs to be delivered immediately.”

I saw Norris look up at Walker. From what I could see of his face, he looked horrified.

Walker handed Shawn and Bobby a large wad of bills; it was probably most of what we had left. “Remember, we’ll pay you the rest upon delivery. Teddy will get it to you. But no fuck ups. This is important. You guys do this right, and I might just put you on the payroll.”

They nodded and I inwardly moaned at the thought of how many people Walker had on the payroll.

I watched as Shawn went down the stairs, alone, and looked around. He waved to Bobby and Bobby and Walker started lugging Norris out of the apartment. “Wait,” I said, going to him. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.” I peered at him. Norris blinked back at me, his eyeglasses askew on his face.

“The next time I see you, you’ll be in jail,” I said. “And I don’t think you’re ever getting out. And I’m gonna make sure that a young, female attorney from a poor background, who’s a helluva lot smarter than you are, gets your corner office. And actually does some work in it.” I beamed at him. “It might be too late for me, but it’s perfect timing for somebody else.”

I patted him on the head. “I’m looking forward to our next meeting,” I said, and waved goodbye. They took him down the stairs and into the awaiting car. Walker shook their hands and came back up the steps slowly, to our newly beaten-up door.

“It’s a good thing we’re leaving soon,” I said, motioning to the door. Like many things in the condo this morning, it was severely taped-up. “We’re really bringing down the property values around here.”

Walker laughed and two seconds later, he was already on the phone with Louise. “Are they there?” he asked, and I could actually hear nerves in his voice. “All four of them?”

A smile broke over his face and he looked over at me. “They made it.”

I smiled back at him. “We’re leaving soon,” he told her. “Keep them out of sight. And go check on that wire. I need that money transferred first thing.”

He hung up and turned to me. “We have to get going. We need everything packed up and ready, so that when Teddy gets the wire, we’re ready to go.”

“Oh, there’s one more thing we need Teddy to do,” I said, rushing into the living room, where all of the neatly organized documents had been put into five enormous manila envelopes. I stacked them up and placed them on the table. Walker leaned over and read the address:
Marnie Edmonds, United States Attorney, United States District Court, 1 Courthouse Way, Boston, MA.