Maybe someone with a spare shirt at court would take pity on him, or he could reschedule.Maybe if he pretended to be injured…
“Relax!”Sami jogged next to him.“When’s your time slot?”
Baz checked his watch—twenty-eight minutes and two blocks to go.Mrs.What’s-Her-Name would surely be waiting for him already.“In half an hour.”
“Cutting it close, didn’t expect that,” Sami remarked.Baz glared at him.“Look, how about I run into a store and get you a new shirt while you consult with your client?”
“Yeah, and I’m the King of England.”
“I’m sorry, would you rather stay soaked in coffee?”
Well, no, but Baz wasn’t stupid.This hadsetupwritten all over it.“Why wouldyouhelp me?”
“Some dick in a bar implied I don’t take accountability for my mistakes.Hold on a second.”
Sami grabbed the back of his collar and pulled it down.The tie knot slammed into Baz’s throat, strangling him.He had no choice but to arch his back.
“Cool,” Sami declared.He buttoned Baz’s thankfully unaffected coat.The dry-cleaning bill would be bad enough as it was.“Just keep it closed and say you’re cold.I’ll text you when I’m there.”
Baz frowned.“How do you have my number?”
“You wanna waste more time with questions?You got a court appearance!Yallah, go, go!”
Baz wanted to argue, but just this once, Sami made sense.
Paying more attention to where he was going, Baz speedwalked the remaining distance to the Richard J.Daley Center and headed for the security check.He put his briefcase on the conveyor belt and stepped through the metal detector.The security guard instructed him to open his coat—and gave him a pitiful stare when Baz complied with a burning face.
“Hope you have something to change into, man.”So did Baz.
Having to rely on someone like Sami, someone he knew nothing good about, someone who had no loyalty to him, was the worst, but he had no choice.Aya wouldn’t make it on time, if she even agreed to come after he had been an ass to her earlier, and he would not sink so low as to beg random people in the hallway to buy him a shirt.
All he could do was hope that somewhere deep down, the devil’s assistant had an ounce of integrity hidden.
An old lady with short white hair and a pinched mouth waited in front of the hearing room.Mrs.Tuffin, no doubt.Twenty-one minutes until their time slot.Come on, Sami.
She excused his tardiness without hesitation—good—but she also did not stop talking once Baz sat her down on the nearest bench.Less good.Collin hadn’t been kidding about her being obsessed with her granddaughter.
“Mrs.Tuffin,” he interrupted her rant about how she hadn’t received a call from said granddaughter in three weeks, “I was briefed that your property was damaged.Can you tell me more about that?”
“This ruffian smashed my window with a baseball!You see, my granddaughter cleaned it for me on her last visit.When was it, a year ago?It was summer then…”
Baz squeezed his fingers into a fist.
“Mrs.Tuffin,” he cut in.“Do you have any proof?Any eyewitnesses?”
“My granddaughter had this camera installed in my backyard.She studies computer science, you see.At Yale.In her second year, she is, I believe.”
By some miracle, Baz managed to keep the groan firmly on the inside.He peered at his phone; no new notifications.Where the hell was Sami?
It took forever to find out whether she had the CCTV tape on her, including a (failed) call to her granddaughter before she finally remembered her son had given her a video camera to bring to court—the recording was there all right, the offender’s face in full view.This ought to be easy.Which would make being held in contempt for violating dress code even more embarrassing.
The buzz against his thigh made him sit up with a sharp inhale.Unknown number.
Unknown Number
here
downstairs bathroom
