the opening session, and no attorney wanted a squirming jury.
Drayco’s timing was spot-on, and it was nice to have something go right for a change. Baskin, on the other hand, was not happy. “Either give me good news or shoot me now, Drayco, because I’ve had it up to here with Odom.”
Drayco had sat in on some of the sessions, so he knew what Baskin was up against. Baskin had put Odom on the stand in hopes he’d crack under the pressure and admit he was behind the theft of the figurines, if not the murder. But Odom was quite the actor, with Matthew McConaughey looks, deflecting Baskin’s questions in a boy-next-door “Who me?” fashion. In contrast, Baskin’s client, poor Manuel Parrack, had an eye that twitched as if winking, and a tendency to sweat so much, he didn’t have stains under his armpits, they were more like sweat lagoons.
Drayco hoped he sounded as sympathetic as he felt. “I’m not sure it’s good news, but I’ve been in contact with Truitt. He’s digging up his buried treasure one by one and taking me along for the ride. I’m not sure why he picked today, unless he thinks you’re going to win the case soon.”
Baskin huffed. “He’s probably just gloating. Hell, if I were him, I’d have handed the stolen figurines over to Odom, gotten my money and taken a Caribbean vacation. Or if he’s double-timing Odom, fenced the goods myself.”
“Yet he stuck around. And neither partner-in-crime has betrayed the other. Odom’s probably so cocksure, he doesn’t think ratting out Truitt is necessary. But Truitt on the other hand—his motives are less clear. It’s like he’s protecting Odom.”
“Well, Drayco, do what you have to. Humor Truitt, play along, join him in a little song and dance. One good break is all we need.”
Drayco was no stranger to pressure. In fact, he thrived on it, since adrenaline spurts did wonders for sharpening the brain like a pencil point. For all his bluster, Baskin was much the same, one of the reasons the duo got along so well despite the Midnight Cowboy references whenever the two stood side-by-side.
Baskin’s perfect record might be at stake, but Drayco knew that wasn’t what kept Benny up at night. It was the constant fear an innocent person might be convicted, and Baskin hadn’t been able to stop it. Like Baskin’s uncle Daniel, in jail eighteen years for the rape of a teenage girl until DNA evidence later cleared him. And now, too, like Manuel Parrack?
Drayco was tired of sitting around waiting to play by Truitt’s rules. He flipped through his mental file of Truitt hideouts, and trusting his gut instinct, headed toward the most likely of the lot, down East Capitol Street far from the trendier Southeast Waterfront. “Urban blight” didn’t begin to describe the rows of rundown and abandoned buildings with bars on the windows in this area, where the principal decor consisted of nailed plywood.
He pulled up in front of what used to be a laundromat, although the chipped pink paint now read LA…D…MAT. The windows were cracked in places and covered inside with green and blue polka-dot sheets and hanging beads that would have felt at home in the hippie days of the ’60s.
The building belonged to a middle-aged divorcee who’d succumbed to Truitt’s mysterious charm and let Truitt hang out there after she closed the laundromat. His source also told him Janet Archbold, a friend with Truitt’s laundry lady, lived in the townhouse next door where she had a manicure side business.
The woman who answered the door wasn’t what he was expecting. Hazel eyes contrasted with long black hair surrounding a face that would have been at home in the desert Southwest. Although she wouldn’t win any beauty contests, not a bad thing in Drayco’s opinion, she reminded him of a dancer friend of his, all arms and legs and grace.
She sized him up. “I don’t think you’re here to get your nails done. You’re too well-dressed for this neighborhood,
Drayco’s timing was spot-on, and it was nice to have something go right for a change. Baskin, on the other hand, was not happy. “Either give me good news or shoot me now, Drayco, because I’ve had it up to here with Odom.”
Drayco had sat in on some of the sessions, so he knew what Baskin was up against. Baskin had put Odom on the stand in hopes he’d crack under the pressure and admit he was behind the theft of the figurines, if not the murder. But Odom was quite the actor, with Matthew McConaughey looks, deflecting Baskin’s questions in a boy-next-door “Who me?” fashion. In contrast, Baskin’s client, poor Manuel Parrack, had an eye that twitched as if winking, and a tendency to sweat so much, he didn’t have stains under his armpits, they were more like sweat lagoons.
Drayco hoped he sounded as sympathetic as he felt. “I’m not sure it’s good news, but I’ve been in contact with Truitt. He’s digging up his buried treasure one by one and taking me along for the ride. I’m not sure why he picked today, unless he thinks you’re going to win the case soon.”
Baskin huffed. “He’s probably just gloating. Hell, if I were him, I’d have handed the stolen figurines over to Odom, gotten my money and taken a Caribbean vacation. Or if he’s double-timing Odom, fenced the goods myself.”
“Yet he stuck around. And neither partner-in-crime has betrayed the other. Odom’s probably so cocksure, he doesn’t think ratting out Truitt is necessary. But Truitt on the other hand—his motives are less clear. It’s like he’s protecting Odom.”
“Well, Drayco, do what you have to. Humor Truitt, play along, join him in a little song and dance. One good break is all we need.”
Drayco was no stranger to pressure. In fact, he thrived on it, since adrenaline spurts did wonders for sharpening the brain like a pencil point. For all his bluster, Baskin was much the same, one of the reasons the duo got along so well despite the Midnight Cowboy references whenever the two stood side-by-side.
Baskin’s perfect record might be at stake, but Drayco knew that wasn’t what kept Benny up at night. It was the constant fear an innocent person might be convicted, and Baskin hadn’t been able to stop it. Like Baskin’s uncle Daniel, in jail eighteen years for the rape of a teenage girl until DNA evidence later cleared him. And now, too, like Manuel Parrack?
Drayco was tired of sitting around waiting to play by Truitt’s rules. He flipped through his mental file of Truitt hideouts, and trusting his gut instinct, headed toward the most likely of the lot, down East Capitol Street far from the trendier Southeast Waterfront. “Urban blight” didn’t begin to describe the rows of rundown and abandoned buildings with bars on the windows in this area, where the principal decor consisted of nailed plywood.
He pulled up in front of what used to be a laundromat, although the chipped pink paint now read LA…D…MAT. The windows were cracked in places and covered inside with green and blue polka-dot sheets and hanging beads that would have felt at home in the hippie days of the ’60s.
The building belonged to a middle-aged divorcee who’d succumbed to Truitt’s mysterious charm and let Truitt hang out there after she closed the laundromat. His source also told him Janet Archbold, a friend with Truitt’s laundry lady, lived in the townhouse next door where she had a manicure side business.
The woman who answered the door wasn’t what he was expecting. Hazel eyes contrasted with long black hair surrounding a face that would have been at home in the desert Southwest. Although she wouldn’t win any beauty contests, not a bad thing in Drayco’s opinion, she reminded him of a dancer friend of his, all arms and legs and grace.
She sized him up. “I don’t think you’re here to get your nails done. You’re too well-dressed for this neighborhood,
Similar Books
Sally Wentworth - A Typical Male
Sally Wentworth
Thomas M. Disch
The Priest
Golden Age (The Shifting Tides Book 1)
James Maxwell
A Newport Christmas Wedding
Shelley Noble
Betting on You
Sydney Landon
MA02 Myth Conceptions
Robert Asprin
Shark Out of Water
DelSheree Gladden
Bound to You
Nichi Hodgson