Page 4 of Cast Stones
I’ve come up against his brand of self-satisfied superiority ever since I started practicing in this field.
“I need some basic details before I meet with a client, Trent. Not just the end result of a game of telephone. Tell me what youdohave.”
“It’s a new multiple murder charge connected to my ongoing trial.” I wrack my brain to remember what case he’s working on. “The guy was my character witness before he confessed to his part on the stand.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s a lying scumbag. He’s trying to take the rap for my client, but Judge Harris and the cops are calling bullshit on him. They still think my client is up to his neck in this too.”
“Client’s name?”
“That’s my business.”
“The other guy’s name, then,” I say, struggling to keep my temper in check.
“Enzo Vincent.”
“Who’s your client accused of killing?”
“Some internet priest who helped start a cult in the seventies. Real Charles Manson stuff. You know the type… The ‘download this document for ten dollars and suddenly you have a hotline to God’ sort.” My blood turns ice-cold at this. “The DA wants to push for the death penalty for Vincent and my client, especially after Vincent just announced that there are supposedly nine other dead cult assholes pushing up daisies all over Florida—”
“Okay, hold up,” I say, speaking fast to quell a rising panic. “Start with the dead priest. Is he connected to the—?”
“Join us after the commercial break for the next installment ofWho Gives a Fuck?” he drawls again.
“Anderson!”
“Listen, Blue Balls, there’s a naked woman in my bed. If Miss High and Mighty Public Defender won’t put out, this chick will have to do. I’ve passed on Judge Harris’s message, and now I’m done.”
He starts to hang up.
“Wait!” I cry, steeling myself for more of his sexist crap. “At least tell me why Enzo Vincent requested me.”
“Must have given someone a good blow job in the past.”
“Be serious, you jerk. What if I don’t agree?”
“Judge Harris will hold you in contempt. This trial can’t proceed until you meet with Vincent.”
My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”
“Put it this way, Bailey… Enzo Vincent has just admitted to knowing where nine bodies are buried. One problem. He’s refusing to sayjackabout these locations to anyone until he’s spoken to you.”
Chapter Two
Freedom isa commodity most people take for granted.
I’m not talking about the flag-waving, Star Spangled Banner bullshit. That’s suburbia’s red, white, and blue surface-painted reality. I’m talking about the freedom to watch an orange sunset and not feel the need to stain it red. The freedom to see something bathed in purity and not burn to destroy it.
The freedom to breathe.
The freedom to fucking exist.
That’s the dark side of liberty no one talks about. They sit in their fancy houses in their upscale neighborhoods and pretend people like me don’t exist. That we don’t walk amongst them and return their plastic smiles with a knife in our hand, ready to strike.
Not because of what they have, or who they are…
But because of what they’ve done.
