Damien
Manhattan, New York
Years Ago
The brightest billboard in Times Square is flashing empty promises for a “new and improved” sleeping pill that has failed me hundreds of times before.
A suited businessman kisses a half-naked woman seconds before he jumps into an ocean of feathers and surrenders to “endless slumber.”
Years ago, I would’ve been intrigued enough to order a monthly dose, but I’ve finally learned my lesson. I’ve tried every formula on the market—Ambien, Temazepam, anything that ends in “lam”—and my suffering remains the same.
I can drift into momentary daydreams and shut my eyes for an hour at a time, but I haven’t experienced a whole night’s sleep in years. The hypnotists and research doctors have declared me “a hopeless case” and “a high-functioning insomniac” doomed to live this way forever.
Since I’ve given up fighting those facts, I work all night and in the shadows, bending and stretching every written rule before it breaks.
Tonight is no exception.
Turning off my car’s headlights, I tap my screen to ensure I’m on track for my next client.
Miss Warren
Are we still on for tonight?
Me
Of course. I’m finishing up some last-minute things for work first.
Miss Warren
Okay. You can come inside (no pun intended) whenever you get here. I left the door open. 🙂
When I’m sure I have everything I need, I head into the building and take the elevator to apartment 33B.
An oversized wheelchair and a set of crutches guard the closet doors. Brochures from physical therapists hang from colored thumbtacks.
Miss Warren, a stunning redhead, suddenly steps in front of me and smiles. Her silk black robe is hanging wide open, revealing a silver bra and matching panties.
“Since you’re a professor,” she says, stepping closer, “I have an important question.”
“I’m listening.”
“Have you ever read a romance novel?”
“Not yet.”
“Well in the one I’m reading now, there’s a part where the hero picks up the heroine and fucks her against the wall,” she says. “I want to try that tonight.”
“I thought you were recovering from leg surgery.”
“Why would you ever think that?”
I point at the wheelchair and crutches. “An easy assumption.”
“Oh, that…” She shakes her head. “No, those things aren’t mine.”
“Hmmm.” I push her against the wall, sliding a hand down her thighs. “So, your legs aren’t hurting at all?”
“Not at this moment.”
“And you’re not in any pain?” I whisper against her lips.
“No, unless you’re referring to the pain I want you to put on me.” She blushes. “I’m in the perfect condition to be fucked, trust me.”
“So, why are you suing your ex-husband for abuse and claiming he left you with a permanent walking disability?”
“WHAT?” Her face pales. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You told the judge you couldn’t come to our first hearing because you can’t walk.”
I smile, tapping her leg again. “But I guess I’m witnessing a miracle.”
“I can’t believe this…” She pushes me away. “Who the hell are you?”
“Your husband’s new lawyer,” I say. “Damien Carter from Hamilton & Associates.”
“That bastard hired a spy to trick me?” She ties her robe. “You told me you were a part-time professor who wanted to have sex.”
“That’s technically true.” I spot a stack of condoms on her coffee table. “How many times were you trying to screw me tonight?”
“Zero.” She points to the door. “Get the hell out of my condo. Now.”
“I suggest you call your lawyer around noon and drop this case,” I say. “No jury will believe you after they watch my video.”
“What part of ‘get the hell out of my condo’ don’t you understand?”
“If there’s ever a lawsuit that you actually intend to win, here’s my card.” I gently tuck it under her bra strap and head to the door. “I hope there are no hard feelings about this.”
When I reach the hallway, she slams the door in my face, and I take my time returning to my car.
Through her open windows, I spot her pacing frantically and talking on the phone, so I call my secretary.
“Yes, Mr. Carter?” she answers on the first ring.
“I sent you a video email,” I say. “Forward that to Judge Harmon in an hour.”
“Will do. Are you coming back to the firm tonight?”
“No, I think I have a date with someone.”
“You think? At three in the morning?”
“Yes,” I say. “See you soon.”
“See you soon, sir.” She hangs up, and I set a timer on my watch.
I’ve worked enough cases to know which clients harbor hard feelings and which don’t.
Five…four…three…
Miss Warren
Are you still outside?
Me
Yes.
Miss Warren
I’m dropping the case against my ex.
Me
That’s an excellent idea.
Miss Warren
Soooo, if you can compartmentalize, I’d like to finish what we started. (I’ll save your name under Dirty Lawyer)
Me
I’ll be up in three minutes. (In that case, I’d prefer that you save it under “Filthy Lawyer”)
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