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Patrick
Marlow tuckedher arm in mine as I pushed the stroller down the sidewalk.
“You up for something to eat?”
“Yes. Mexican. The biggest bowl of queso dip we can get. And fajitas. No. Tacos. You get one and I’ll get the other,” she said in rapid fire.
“But I only eat burritos.”
She stopped walking. I grinned at her.
“You’re an ass.”
Halfway through thefirst basket of chips, Gerard called.
“I need to take this,” I said as I slid out of the booth.
“More for me.” She popped a cheese coated chip in her mouth.
“That man is here again.” My assistant spoke low in in the phone. “He isn’t interested in the list of attorneys you provided.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Sitting in the lobby,” Gerard hissed. “I informed him you were out for the day, but he said he’d wait.”
“Fuck.” I loosened my tie.
“Shall I phone the authorities?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No. Put him on the phone.”
“I don’t believe that’s a wise decision.”
“I didn’t ask.”
In a moment, a rushed sounding voice came over the line. “Mr. Whitley. Thank you for speaking with me.”
“Sir, as I told you the other day, I’m not taking on new clients. My assistant has the list of other options for you. Any of them will do a good job.”
“No. You have to help him. Time is running out.”
“Then I suggest you contact one of them immediately.”
“Please.” His voice broke.
I ripped my tie out from my collar. “I can’t. Please leave my office before my assistance is forced to call the police.”
I hung up and texted Gerard.
I want to know if he leaves
“Case gone bad?”
Marlow had demolished the bowl of chips and was already working on another. It was good to see her appetite back.
I stuck my tie in my pocket and sank back into the booth. “Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover” by Sophie B. Hawkins began to play. It was an odd song to hear in a Mexican restaurant, but apt. Marlow didn’t seem aware of anything other than the food.
“This guy keeps sitting in my office all day. He insists I’m the only one who can help him.”
