smiled shyly, a little embarrassed, like a good apostolic girl opening up her Bible on her lap. Well, Marydale, I’m so glad you asked about our Savior.
“So you gonna hit it and quit it?” Aldean asked.
“I asked her to move in with me.”
“No!”
“She can’t find a place to rent.”
“That’s not how you hit it and quit it.”
“I wouldn’t,” Marydale protested.
Aldean stood up again and retrieved a set of tin plates from somewhere in the darkness behind the fire. Lilith followed him, her muscular, white body glowing in the firelight. He handed a plate, fork, and knife to Marydale, then sat down with his own dinner. Lilith sat beside him while he cut up his steak. When he had reduced the meat to the same pea-sized bites he cut for Pops, he scraped a quarter of the meat onto the ground for Lilith.
“You spoil her,” Marydale said.
“What did she say?” Aldean asked. “She gonna come look at your place?”
“No.” Marydale stabbed the meat on her plate. “Of course she’s not going to rent from me. She’s the DA.”
“You gonna do anything about it?”
“No.”
“I know,” he said. “This fucking town.”
Marydale glanced over. Aldean nodded slowly, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his hat. Behind him the Firesteed Mountains stood in black relief against a navy sky.
“Back in the day, you would’ve,” he said.
“Back in the day,” Marydale said, “was a long time ago.”
3
Kristen stood in front of her boss’s desk, her pen poised over a notepad. District Attorney Boyd Relington hadn’t asked her to sit down, and the moment to sit anyway—because they were colleagues and she shouldn’t need an invitation—had passed. Now sitting felt like a statement.
“These are your case files for next week,” Relington said.
“Are these all the cases that came in?” Kristen asked.
“We got a stack of cases from the police. The new chief sends everything our way.”
Kristen was fairly sure she’d heard someone say that the “new” chief had been in his position for more than ten years.
“Back in the day,” Relington went on, “some people knew when to leave well enough alone, but I went through the paperwork from the police. I’ll be prosecuting the O’Rourke case. You’ll be doing Alioto, Esso, Scappa, De La Pedraja.” He rattled off a few more names.
“Can I see the rest of the files that came in from the police?” Kristen asked.
“Not every arrest warrants a prosecution.”
Everything Relington said was a counterargument. He was like all law students she had gone to school with and then taught in first-year legal writing, only older and untempered by the constant influx of more brilliant, young legal minds.
“I mean is there a selection process?” Kristen had rehearsed her speech. I trust your judgment, but I’d like to select my own cases.
“Do you really want to discuss this now?”
Relington checked his watch. It was Friday, four thirty. The afternoon sun cut through the sagging venetian blinds, illuminating the Tristess memorabilia that filled Relington’s office: football jersey behind glass, a set of old stirrups. It was like the Western-themed Silver Rush Bar in Portland…only not ironic.
“Yes,” Kristen said. “Now is fine.”
“Okay. What’s this about, really? Sit.”
“I’d like to select the cases I try.” Kristen lowered herself into a chair.
“These are good cases.” Relington leaned forward and tapped the stack of files on his desk. “I selected them.”
“I’m sure they’re good cases.”
“How long have you been here?”
“About a month.”
“And how long are you planning to stay?”
Kristen had lain awake for the past week, working on the equation. Leaving in less than a year would negate the benefit of having deputy DA on her résumé, but two years would be more than plenty.
“I don’t have any plans to leave,” she said.
Relington snorted. “Do you know why I hired you?”
Kristen could
“So you gonna hit it and quit it?” Aldean asked.
“I asked her to move in with me.”
“No!”
“She can’t find a place to rent.”
“That’s not how you hit it and quit it.”
“I wouldn’t,” Marydale protested.
Aldean stood up again and retrieved a set of tin plates from somewhere in the darkness behind the fire. Lilith followed him, her muscular, white body glowing in the firelight. He handed a plate, fork, and knife to Marydale, then sat down with his own dinner. Lilith sat beside him while he cut up his steak. When he had reduced the meat to the same pea-sized bites he cut for Pops, he scraped a quarter of the meat onto the ground for Lilith.
“You spoil her,” Marydale said.
“What did she say?” Aldean asked. “She gonna come look at your place?”
“No.” Marydale stabbed the meat on her plate. “Of course she’s not going to rent from me. She’s the DA.”
“You gonna do anything about it?”
“No.”
“I know,” he said. “This fucking town.”
Marydale glanced over. Aldean nodded slowly, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his hat. Behind him the Firesteed Mountains stood in black relief against a navy sky.
“Back in the day, you would’ve,” he said.
“Back in the day,” Marydale said, “was a long time ago.”
3
Kristen stood in front of her boss’s desk, her pen poised over a notepad. District Attorney Boyd Relington hadn’t asked her to sit down, and the moment to sit anyway—because they were colleagues and she shouldn’t need an invitation—had passed. Now sitting felt like a statement.
“These are your case files for next week,” Relington said.
“Are these all the cases that came in?” Kristen asked.
“We got a stack of cases from the police. The new chief sends everything our way.”
Kristen was fairly sure she’d heard someone say that the “new” chief had been in his position for more than ten years.
“Back in the day,” Relington went on, “some people knew when to leave well enough alone, but I went through the paperwork from the police. I’ll be prosecuting the O’Rourke case. You’ll be doing Alioto, Esso, Scappa, De La Pedraja.” He rattled off a few more names.
“Can I see the rest of the files that came in from the police?” Kristen asked.
“Not every arrest warrants a prosecution.”
Everything Relington said was a counterargument. He was like all law students she had gone to school with and then taught in first-year legal writing, only older and untempered by the constant influx of more brilliant, young legal minds.
“I mean is there a selection process?” Kristen had rehearsed her speech. I trust your judgment, but I’d like to select my own cases.
“Do you really want to discuss this now?”
Relington checked his watch. It was Friday, four thirty. The afternoon sun cut through the sagging venetian blinds, illuminating the Tristess memorabilia that filled Relington’s office: football jersey behind glass, a set of old stirrups. It was like the Western-themed Silver Rush Bar in Portland…only not ironic.
“Yes,” Kristen said. “Now is fine.”
“Okay. What’s this about, really? Sit.”
“I’d like to select the cases I try.” Kristen lowered herself into a chair.
“These are good cases.” Relington leaned forward and tapped the stack of files on his desk. “I selected them.”
“I’m sure they’re good cases.”
“How long have you been here?”
“About a month.”
“And how long are you planning to stay?”
Kristen had lain awake for the past week, working on the equation. Leaving in less than a year would negate the benefit of having deputy DA on her résumé, but two years would be more than plenty.
“I don’t have any plans to leave,” she said.
Relington snorted. “Do you know why I hired you?”
Kristen could
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