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LAUREN
Isighed, finally letting myself slump against the taxi seat. The rest of that meeting didn’t go quite as well, and my head was pounding. Hopefully, I’d hidden it well enough—I had to play the role of the unruffled professional, after all.
“This address, please,” I told the driver, showing her my phone. She nodded.
“It’ll be almost an hour at this time of day,” she warned me.
“That’s alright,” I said, too tired to worry about my wallet. I was doing alright, all things considered—I could make my rent, afford my groceries, all of that, although my student loans really tightened the belt. Still, I didn’t have it in me to take public transport today. I’d find a way to cover it.
The driver put on some generic pop station, and I leaned back and closed my eyes. The meeting hadn’t been a bust, obviously not, but the only new information I actually got was about the finances. That was important, it was, just… not what I was really worried about. I’d figured a large crime family like the Marinos would have their ducks in a row, it was the arrest itself that I really needed more information about. Unfortunately, Mr. Marino hadn’t given me anything more than what Richard had.
I tried to pump myself back up. The financial information I’d gotten was incredibly important, after all, and I was sure it was the first thing the opposing counsel would look at. Having no financial link to the heroin threw a massive amount of doubt on the claim. But again, we weren’t talking about a small-time street-corner dealer, this was the Marino family. The judge would already expect them to have covered their trail. I needed more.
The warrant had been signed that same day, and only once the ship had made it into American waters, so that wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped it would be. The evidence stated was just ‘reasonable suspicion,’ which was sketchy as hell but vague enough to be defendable. Plus, the warrant had been issued by Judge Michael Bohm, a notorious hard-ass and a stickler for the rules. It would be near impossible to prove bias from him.
Before I could agonize myself into a migraine, my phone rang in my briefcase. My heart jumped—that ringtone meant hope.
“Jen,” I groaned into the receiver, “please tell me you’re calling to save my life.” Jennifer laughed, and I felt some of the burden slip off my shoulders.
“Yeah, baby, I’m here to save you,” she said. “Just call me Gawain ‘cuz I’m your knight in shining armor.” I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, my god, you’re hopeless,” I grinned. Jen was such a nerd—a brilliant computer whiz and hacker extraordinaire, but she obsessed over King Arthur the way some women our age obsessed over movie stars. There was no way I’d have known the name Gawain if it weren’t for her impassioned late-night rants.
I’d tell her she needed a hobby, but this was her hobby. She’d dragged me along to at least one Renaissance Fair every year of undergrad.
“So I’ll see you soon?” she asked cheekily. I smiled fondly.
“Yeah, I’ll text you my ETA in a minute. Thanks, Jen.”
“Any time, Birdy Girl,” she said, then disconnected. I smiled to myself, then leaned forward to tell the driver about our change in destination.
Jen’s apartment was surprisingly neat, given her usual penchant for clutter, so I knew her brother had been over. Otherwise, her Lord of the Rings and How to Train Your Dragon merch would be scattered at random instead of tastefully displayed throughout her home. Oh, and her full-size poster of Geralt of Rivia had finally been hung. Yeah, Connor had definitely been here.
Still, Jen’s apartment was a home away from home, and I felt my shoulders inch lower the instant I stepped through the doorway. I knew it was just my imagination, but I swear it felt warmer in here, like a fireside blanket in the middle of winter. Jen was safety.
Jen was also exuberant. “Birdy!” she cried, practically pulling me in by my arm. “Want a popsicle?”
“At almost 6:00 pm on a Thursday?” I laughed. Jen rolled her eyes.
“It’s a frozen treat, not a cocktail. You want one or not?”
“Of course I do,” I relented fondly. Jen was already elbow-deep in her freezer drawer anyway.
Once we were nestled on her couch, she turned to me. “Okay, update me. Your meeting didn’t go well?”
I sighed. “It did, it just doesn’t feel like it,” I told her. “I got all the financial information I could ever ask for, and man, do they have everything on lock, so there’s nothing to worry about there. But Mr. Marino couldn’t give me any more about the arrest itself. He didn’t know anything Richard didn’t.” Jen grinned mischievously. I perked up—that expression only ever meant good things for me.
“What happened, what did you find?” I asked excitedly. She looked practically giddy.
“Oh, just surveillance footage of the police preparing for the arrest before the box was even opened,” she grinned. I gasped, bouncing in my seat.
“Oh my god, really?” I asked. That was a game-changer. Having a warrant was one thing, but to presume an arrest before evidence had been collected was a blatant misuse of power.
“Look for yourself!”
Jen handed me her phone, and I eagerly took it. My heart fluttered in excitement—if I could get even one cop doing so much as moving his handcuffs before the search even started, then I could argue bias.
And what I got was so much better.
