Legally Wasted by Tommy Strelka Read Free Book Online

not present. His throat clinched.
“Where is Deveraux?”
    A smile worked its way across Wendy’s thin
lips. Only a few years out of law school, Wendy McAdams had already
made quite a reputation for herself as a competent no-nonsense
attorney who particularly despised the pervasive “good old boys”
network. Though Larkin surely resided near the bottom of the local
male hierarchy, his situation worsened when he recalled that he had
seen Wendy’s name pop up multiple times on his caller ID log in the
past two weeks but he had never returned her phone calls. As he
thought for a moment, he realized that there might have even been
an unopened letter from Wendy starting to collect dust on the
corner of his desk.
    “Didn’t you get my messages, Mr. Monroe?” she
asked, although she already knew the answer. Wendy probably could
have envisioned the cluttered surface of Larkin’s desk better than
Larkin.
    Larkin’s fingers fidgeted with the latches on
his briefcase. He was not in a position to stare competence in the
face, much less begin to make legal arguments. And he could tell by
the tone of her voice that the hearings were going to be hell. She
would relish going toe to toe with a loser like himself but merely
as practice to hone her skills for more impressive opponents. A cat
playing with a drunk and under-qualified mouse.
    With quick glances stolen here and there,
Larkin spied on Wendy while pretending to flip through mostly
documents in his files. She swung her legs back and forth below her
desk fairly quickly, like a child waiting for her favorite carnival
ride to start. Larkin’s wounded stomach turned. “There might be
something on my desk. My secretary has been out for a few days,” he
said, wincing a bit.
    “A few days?” she asked as she tapped her pen
lightly against her legal pad. “I don’t remember a secretary ever
answering my calls. Is she sick?”
    “Very,” said Larkin. He kept staring at her
legs. No one in court twelve years ago wore those shiny knee-high
vixen boots, he thought to himself.
    “Sorry to hear that. It must be pretty
severe. I called you two weeks ago and the call went straight to
your answering service.”
    “Yes, well . . . you know, Ms. McAdams,
Deveraux and I had worked out a number of things on these
cases.”
    “Oh yes,” said Wendy as she lifted a thin
file folder. She opened it and showed Larkin its contents, only a
single yellow sheet of paper with a few unintelligible notes lay
inside. “I have read Mr. Deveraux’s files. Quite the work.”
    “Where is Deveraux?” Larkin asked. Her
attitude was pissing him off.
    “Fired,” said Wendy. “Three weeks ago.”
    Larkin swallowed. “Cocksucker,” he whispered
as he slammed his briefcase shut. It closed loudly and caused the
clerk to jump in her chair. A serene middle-aged woman seated next
to the judge’s vacant leather chair, the clerk glared at Larkin
from over her paperwork.
    “Sorry,” Larkin said with an artificial
smile. His tongue suddenly felt thick and dry. He searched for the
defendant’s water pitcher but found neither the pitcher nor the
disposable cups that usually sat in the center of the table. “Hey,”
he said, “where’s the water?”
    “Water’s been removed, Mr. Monroe,” said a
nearby deputy.
    “Removed?” asked Larkin. “Whatever for? Don’t
tell me that they’re digging that low because of the budget.”
Larkin wiped his brow with his right sleeve and quickly realized
that he had spoken far too loudly.
    “No, sir,” said the deputy, “but someone done
used that aluminum pitcher as a weapon in Courtroom Two last week
and Sheriff put in new policies.”
    “Good god,” muttered Larkin, “it is daytime
television. It really is.” He cleared his throat. He looked over
his files again, but that did not distract him. He was very
thirsty. More sweat collected at his brow. He knew that he looked
terrible.
    “So, uh, Ms. McAdams,” he started, “what do
you want to do? Do you