Page 8 of King of Justice

“Do all lawyers persistently repeat their questions?”

“It’s our job to get the answers.”

“It’s a novel.” I looked at the pages in my hands before taking the joint from him, inhaling deeply.

“What kind?”

“You mean the genre?”

“Describe it to me. I don’t believe in labels.”

“They’re imperative to your job.”

“But not to my life and the things I enjoy.” Smiling, he took a drag and held it in.

“Fair enough.” I shrugged. “It’s a thriller with a touch of romance… some psychobabble.”

“Can you narrow it down? Are we talking Body Heat? Bed and Board?”

“More like Violent City… are all your references from films?” I stared at the joint remaining between his fingers. “Don’t hog it.”

“Oh, sorry.” He held it to me. “Well, after books came case records. Now I barely have the time, so two or three hours are the only luxury I can afford.”

I let the smoke slowly escape my lips. “Yet, here we are.”

“The irony isn't lost on me.”

“Who do you think makes the best films?”

“Who—Directors? Countries? Producers?”

“If you give me options, I’ll say: all of the above.”

“Ahh.” He sighed, seemingly beginning to relax as he bent up his legs, crossing them on the couch while he leaned back. “Let’s see… I’ve always respected the Italian and the French for their honesty.”

“Uh-huh?”

“But these days, I find Nordic films more… intriguing?”

“Nordic?”

“Yeah, like last weekend? I watched this Swedish film—uh… shit, I can’t remember what it was called in English.”

“Was it new?”

“Yes, and won several awards last year.”

“What was it about?”

“Just this woman… struggling.”

I sat back and felt my muscles relax. Shifting slightly, I adjusted my position to face him while leaning against the back of the couch with my arm on top. My eyes were enchanted by the look on his face, so serene as he carried on.

“There was this scene where everyone around her froze in place and she kept running. No stress. Normal people on a bike or crossing the street. Something about the way her body moved… I wanted to be her for a minute.”

“Running while everybody else stands still?”

“I—I don’t know.” He lowered his head backward, resting it on the couch. The curve of his neck, a silhouette with the throbbing of life and an Adam’s apple. It held my gaze hostage. “I guess I like the clever way in which a director glorifies something as simple as—”

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