Page 25 of Contention

Regardless of the fact that he’s right; it wouldn’t be hard for someone of his means to find out her address. No challenge at all. Despite that, Kara holds on to her pride, because that’s what it’s all about, after all.

When the flashy red car zips around the next corner, she lets the air out of her lungs and shivers. Her glasses are fogged, so she lifts them onto her forehead as she limps to her building, feet blazing with pain.

Inside her place, she slips out of her black heels and stares at the floor as water drips off her, splattering on her nice bamboo floors.

It’s like blood, crimson and bright. Streams of it, on the kitchen tile.

Kara blinks the memory away, groaning as she flexes her toes, now free of their prison.

She makes dinner simple, goat cheese ravioli with a garlic herb sauce. Kara eats slowly, her stomach still a little sore from the morning. She eats and texts with Bob, conferring with him over the notes she’s been getting from their PI.

Her work folder is spread open on the table, drying. Most of the papers are fine, but a few are best left alone.

Kara chomps on her pasta slowly, squinting down and making notes as she catches up on work. They struck out on four of the people who cut ties with the club, taking with them their signed NDA’s. She’s about to write off the idea that these people left for a shady reason vs just getting out of the lifestyle when-

We have one,the PI finally texts her.

And?Kara asks, rubbing her forehead, worrying about wrinkles briefly.Is it a good lead?

This one is gold,he replies.Meet her on Sunday to talk further. Take Derrick with you. Rough story. Ask her about ‘The Room’.

Just like that, her interest is reawaked.Tell me about this room.

Oh, no. It’s not a room. It’s ‘The Room’. Our little number said, and I quote, ‘I’ve been to The Room, where souls go to die’.

Kara frowns, something like claws running down her spine. Something disturbing rests in the text, something that makes her chest tighten with unease. This…this doesn’t sound good. This sounds far worse. She’ll need to ask Debra Mills if she’s heard about this…Room.

This place where souls go to die.

Her phone beeps again, but this time, it isn’t Bob or her PI.

The text is Bianca and Kara squints at it skeptically. Of course, now she comes up for air after the weekend debacle.

Hey. Hump Day Dinner tomorrow night, we still on?

Kara inhales deeply, thinking on if it’s even worth starting a fight over how Bianca had let her wander off alone on Saturday night after expressing her concern that she’d been drugged. Probably not worth it. Bianca isn’t…the responsible type. Perhaps Kara doesn’t really care, underneath it all. She needs a distraction, as always.

She shakes off the sick feeling in her stomach that the prior text left, pushing The Room to the back of her mind.

Yeah,Kara types back quickly, sipping her coffee.We’re on. Wanna find something off Wacker?

Bianca’s reply is immediate. Kara can almost imagine her overly cheerful tone and expression. Too much enthusiasm, as always.I’ll find something and book it in the app. I’m totally down to hear about your risqué case. It’s been in the news, you know. :peach emoji:

Rolling her eyes, Kara replies,No, not peach emoji, B. I’m not telling you any details; I can’t discuss cases and you know it.

The message app shows Bianca replying. Then,Yeah, yeah. I know, ho. But, can we be real about that club? We’re going to try and check it out, I’ve decided. Sounds freaky.

Groaning loudly, Kara tosses her head back and wonders why she’s cursed with such an absurd friend.Goodnight, B. I’ll see you tomorrow.

With that, she tosses her phone at the couch, getting out of her reach so she can concentrate on her paperwork and outlining for the next day. A short day, not full. Then, nothing on Thursday. The delay could either be good or bad.

The delay could give the defense more time to pay people off. More time to make a stronger defense. But. This Room thing could change everything. What if it opens a new can of worms?

Kara rubs her eyes tiredly and wonders if Ray Wellis could be any help on the matter. He’s a detective, isn’t he?

Twirling her pencil between her fingers, she considers how the detective had stared at Calais, a furrow in his brow. He isn’t a fan, that much she can tell. There’s something there; Detective Ray Wellis will help her with the digging, won’t he? He wants to catch a patron of prostitutes and Kara wants to win her first prolific case.

Quid pro quo.

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