But then it struck me: How did I know that? For all we’d been through, I still barely knew him. So how come I was so sure?
The answer crept forward, like a cowering, guilty child: because it’s what I would’ve done. It’d been my motto since I was a kid: Slide by with a lie; don’t admit it till you quit it. It was such second nature I never even thought about it. And that thought forced me to finally confront the bigger, core truth. The one I’d been avoiding ever since I found out he’d killed Jenny.
Dale knew he didn’t have to kill her. But he wasn’t having any guilt pangs over it. And neither would I. I might not have been as sloppy about it, but if I’d been in Dale’s position, I’d probably have killed her, too. I was who I was, and Dale was who he was. And we were a lot more alike than I-or he-could possibly have known. It occurred to me in that moment that it really wasn’t such a coincidence that our paths had crossed, after all. To the contrary, it seemed almost inevitable.
I looked at Dale now, saw his tense, worried expression as he looked into my eyes. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “I don’t know how you feel about me right now. Maybe you don’t, either.” He swallowed and took a deep breath. “But I need to know what you’re going to do about… all this…”
The question almost made me smile. Dale knew so little about me. “You know it’s privileged. I can’t tell-”
Dale waved me off. “Yeah, I know you can’t tell anyone what I said. But we both know you can get around that if you want to.”
He was right. Alex had already put the wheels on the wagon by finding Cricket. It wouldn’t take much to set them in motion. All I’d have to do was get Cricket busted and then drop an anonymous call to the cops saying he had information on Jenny Knox’s murder. I shook my head. “If I’d wanted to take you down, I’d have done it already.”
Dale exhaled and nodded slowly, but his eyes searched my face. He wasn’t 100 percent sure of me. But I wasn’t 100 percent sure that I could trust him, either. He was a loose cannon with a short fuse, and he had no compunction about lying.
Then again, neither did I.
But his hair-trigger temper worried me. The image of Dale exploding with rage after I told him I’d been molested was still fresh in my mind. I didn’t want to wind up sitting next to him in court again. I couldn’t afford it-for a lot of reasons. I had to be honest with myself. Being close to him posed a real danger. But being honest, I also had to admit that seeing his fury in those moments, I’d felt a wild, howl-at-the-moon, bloodlust satisfaction. And that was what I’d always wanted. Not Superman, not Bruce Lee. I’d wanted that raging, untamed monster who’d shred and tear the limbs off anyone who dared to hurt me.
And I still did. That monster, managed right, could be just what I needed.
Dale glanced down at his hands. They were laced together in front of him. “I’ll get it if you don’t want to see me again.” He looked up and searched my face. “But I’m hoping you will.”
I wasn’t sure what our relationship would look like or where it would take us. And it might wind up being a disaster-for both of us. But there was only one way to find out. I looked into his eyes. “I’m in.”
EPILOGUE
I’d just finished an appearance in Department 130 and was having a cup of coffee in the snack bar when Michelle called. “Put on Channel Four.”
I walked over to the television that was bolted to the wall, stepped on the bottom rung of a chair, and changed the channel. Brittany Marston was standing in front of the Twin Towers jail, microphone in hand. To her left, a young kid in jeans and an OBEY t-shirt-his frightened eyes barely visible under a mop of wavy hair-was being led toward the jail by two beefy deputies who gripped his skinny arms as though they thought he might fly away. I turned up the volume. “… and prosecutors are saying they intend to try the sixteen-year-old as an adult for the slaying of his older brother. Back to you, Gabe.”
I sat back down and spoke to Michelle. “So who was that?”
“Your next client. His mother said she’d come in with the retainer as soon as you sign on.”
It was our second new case this week. The fame train was starting to pay off. I got up and threw my coffee cup into the trash. The Twin Towers jail was just across the street. “Tell her I’m on my way.”
The guards only gave me an hour with my new client, Jason Stambler. I didn’t want to get into the case with him until I saw the police reports, so I introduced myself, gave him the standard warning about not talking to anyone, no matter how “friendly” they seemed, and told him what to expect during the next few days.
By the time I got back to the office, it was almost three o’clock.
Michelle was just getting off the phone when I walked in. I pointed to the leopard-print Scünci she was wearing and made a growling noise. “You’re really gonna drive the boys wild today, babe.”
She shot me a dagger. “It keeps the hair out of my eyes, smartass.” She nodded at the phone. “That was Arturo Orozco, wanting to know what you’ve come up with.”
My heart gave a painful thud. I’d known those guys were going to be trouble, but I hadn’t expected it to start this soon. I had to find a way to calm them down, buy myself time to figure out what to do with them.
Michelle broke into my thoughts. She peered at me with a worried expression. “Sam? What’s going on?”
I made my face go blank. “Nothing. I just haven’t had time to get much done for them yet.” I rolled my eyes. “I mean, between the fire, the break-in at my apartment, and such, we’ve been a little busy.”
Michelle shook her head. “Don’t dust me off, Sam. I know you too well. It’s more than that.” Her mouth set in a firm line. “So what gives?” Her expression softened. “Come on. Let me help.”
I shook my head as I took in the scar on her forehead and thought about the asshole who’d given it to her. She’d picked him out at the lineup, was 100 percent sure. But the cop had let her see the guy in handcuffs beforehand, and he was the only one in the lineup with a goatee. Michelle said none of that mattered; she knew it was him. But the judge threw out her identification anyway, and that was the end of the case. For them. Not for Michelle.
The day after the case was dismissed, the letters and phone calls started. Ugly death threats, describing how he’d maim her, burn her alive, throw acid in her face. She went to the police, told them she knew who was doing it-and the cops were sympathetic. They were sure she was right, but she had no proof. Their hands were tied.
Michelle wasn’t eating, she wasn’t sleeping, and within two weeks, she’d dropped ten pounds-weight she didn’t need to lose. My best friend was about to go over the edge. I had to do something. I got the dickweed’s address from Michelle’s copy of the police report and staked out his place, a skuzzy studio apartment in Koreatown.
It took two weeks, but I finally found my chance when he left his place late one night. After having watched him for the past two weeks, I knew his habits, knew he was headed to the local liquor store. And I knew the route he’d take. I still remember the feel of the gas pedal under my foot, the roar of the engine as the car leaped forward, the look on his face as he saw me bearing down on him. When he rolled off the hood, I backed up and ran over him two more times, just to make sure.
But what I remember most of all is the feeling of power. I did this. I made things right. It was a liberating, intoxicating feeling, a high like no other. I didn’t know it then, but I was hooked.
I took in Michelle’s worried expression and wished I could tell her. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her about any of them. I couldn’t put that burden on her. And though I didn’t think she would, I couldn’t take the risk she’d turn me in.