Page 30 of Winning Bid

“Fuck you! I’m out!” I turn for the door.

“See, that’s the difference between me and the cops. When I question you like they probably will, you can leave. When it’s them, you can’t. So I suggest you get your pampered ass comfortable with being handled like an adult for once in your life.”

My jaw grits as the wheels turn in my head. I turn around and snarl, “That was a fucking test?”

“Yeah. You failed. Lucky for you, I grade on a curve.” He stands up, setting his orange down on a napkin. Instead of the trousers to match the top half of his suit, he’s in boxers from the waist down. “It’s not all sunshine and roses in a police station, Mr. West. They’re not gonna blow smoke up your skirt. It’ll be rude and brutal because they think you’re a murderer, and they wanna catch someone for that. Since you happen to actually be the guy who did the job, they’re gonna be extra rough on you because they don’t have any other leads, according to my sources.”

“You have sources in the BPD?”

He looks at me like I sprouted a fourth head. “In every department. This isn’t amateur hour.”

He’s annoyingly right about everything, and I’m not sure if I’m more bothered by that or by the fact that I feel like I’ve been verbally sparred into a corner. I take a breath to simmer down. “Fine. I apologize for being rude. If you’ll still have me as a client, I would be grateful for your help.”

His caterpillar brows shoot up his forehead. “All that West money bought you some nice manners. Sit. Catch.” He tosses me an orange. “They’re fresh from my sister’s grove in Florida. You’ll like it.”

What the hell? So, I peel my orange, too. “Okay. What do I do?”

“After you killed Neil?—"

“In self-defense.”

“What did you do then?”

I sigh, staring at my orange. “I called my father’s associate who helps with … other business. He has experience in what I needed, and he helped me get rid of the body.”

“Full service, that guy. Would this be Moss?”

I nearly drop the orange. “Yeah, how?—"

“We go back. So, you called Moss, and what happened?”

“He came, and after he rolled the body in a tarp and took it to his van, he had June spray the hallway down while we cleaned things up and put some potted plants around the area to cover up the damage. Then drove out to the docks and went to his boat. He weighted the body down, and we dumped it.”

He nods, chewing on his fruit and thinking. “Sounds like Moss’ work. Except this time, he fucked up somehow.”

“Maybe. Or maybe the body got tangled in a fishing net or something. I don’t know.”

“Alright, here’s what I’m going to do. I will reach out to the detectives on the case and ask for a meeting with them directly. We’ll feign cooperation. They love that. You will make a list of anyone who can corroborate your alibi?—"

“I don’t have one.”

“Get creative. Then?—"

“What about June? They’ve already tracked her down as a person of interest.”

He takes a breath, hesitating. That is never a good sign. “I am your lawyer. Not hers.”

“We keep her safe. This doesn’t work otherwise.”

“Your father paid for your freedom, Anderson. Only yours.”

Of course, he fucking did. But if given what she told the cops, and if I create a good enough alibi, then we’re both in the clear. I nod and bite into my orange. He was right about it. Best I’ve ever had. Hopefully, the same is true of him.

We wrap up the meeting, and as I leave the odd man’s office, I feel better and worse. Better because I have the best on my team. Worse because the legal shitstorm is only just beginning.

17

ANDERSON

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