Chapter 1

I could retire on Friday! I was nearly free! Erik Jansen would be a public defender no more! Only eight more cases, and I’d be done! I couldn’t wait to have pizza in Italy! Then maybe find a date for drinks on the beach in Fiji! With luck, there might still be enough snow for an end-of-season ski trip in the mountains! I couldn’t wait to be anywhere else. Thirty years in New York was at least ten too many!

I hated being a lawyer, but my grandfather’s will was strict. I got a hundred grand when I finished high school, a quarter million when I got my Bachelor’s degree, and a million the day I passed the BAR exam. I had ONE DAY to go until I finished my two years as a public defender, then I’d get the balance of his estate!

There was a keep in Germany, a hotel on Maui, a stone and marble villa on a lake near Taranto, his collection of rare sports cars from the 60’s and 70’s, and another sixty million after taxes. There were also luxury apartments in Las Vegas, Vancouver, Chicago, Miami, Paris, Liechtenstein, and Nottingham. I had a halfway decent apartment in Brooklyn already. If I could play the gold diggers and limit them to a few weeks each, I’d be in Heaven!

I would finally be done defending lowlifes who were mostly guilty anyway! No more career alcoholics, drug addicts, petty thieves, or prostitutes. I might miss a few of the prettier streetwalkers a little, but I’d be glad to be rid of the rest of them. Instead of defending hookers in court and jacking off as I remembered them later, I would have enough time and more than enough money to date actresses and models! Maybe even a real princess or two, since I would own an actual castle! I’d have plenty of time for my photography hobby and be able to relax!

A few times I had considered sailing or getting a pilot’s license. I was in the middle of the weighty decision to buy either a plane or a sailboat, when there was a knock at my door. I wondered who it could be. It was almost ten pm.

When I answered, I saw a shabby-looking young girl crying. She had a black eye and bloody lip, and was missing a heel from one of her red shoes. Her heavy makeup was smeared. There were dirt and cobwebs in her blonde hair, and a small tear in her short red top. Her black skirt was wrinkled and dirty. Only her young age would make her stand out from the group of five hookers I had defended yesterday. I reflexively took a business card from my pocket and said, “Here’s my number. You can call my office in the morning.”

Through her tears she pleaded, “Wait! Please! My mom’s hurt! Please, come help! She’s in trouble!”

I said what should have been obvious. “I’m a lawyer. It sounds like you need a doctor or a cop.”

She worriedly insisted, “Please! It’s only a block! She had your card in her pocket so I came here. She told me you were really nice.”

I slid my shoes on and followed her reluctantly. There was a cheap red wig laying in the alley next to a blonde woman in a fake fur coat and black bikini. There was blood on her face from an obvious knife wound on her scalp. Her eyes were open and unresponsive, and I didn’t see her breathing. I called 911 immediately and checked for a pulse, there was none. I saw a large amount of blood on the ground and several stab wounds in her abdomen. I attempted CPR, but there was still no breathing or pulse by the time the ambulance got there. A cop on a motorcycle arrived only a minute later. A police car stopped at each end of the block, and officers got out of their cars. The motorcycle patrolman recorded a lot of video of the woman and got some stills as well.

When they put her on a stretcher I recognized her. She was Jean Smith. Her nickname was “Jeans on the floor”, for obvious reasons. I defended her on a prostitution charge only a month ago. She was one of the few whores I’d met who were only alcoholics, instead of drug addicts. I had gotten her a plea bargain of only community service and a fine.

I thought it was a real shame. She had a kid, and she had posed for me one afternoon. I thought she was actually very attractive, with large breasts and a curvy butt. She was a lot heavier than the anorexic stick-women guys seem to prefer today. She reminded me of a young Pam Anderson, plus twenty pounds. I remembered she had a weird sense of humor. She had tattoos of hearts with ‘Jesus loves me’ on each of her butt cheeks. I also recalled that her daughter’s name was Elly. It felt very strange to remember those pieces of information at the same time. From Elly’s looks I suspected she was twelve or maybe 13, but recalled she was 14 from one of the court documents I’d seen. I guessed she was smaller than usual for her age due to malnutrition.

They loaded Jean into the back of the ambulance as I heard a woman down the block yell; “Rex did it! He’s over there!” A man wearing a flamboyant green zebra pattern shirt, orange hat, and leather pants ran down the sidewalk. One of the cops yelled for him to stop, then tackled him. I saw the light on his bodycam blinking. As the cop cuffed him, a detective read the perp his rights. On the way to the patrol car they started questioning him. The detective showed the guy a picture of Jean. “Do you know her?”

“Hell no, that ain’t the bitch I stabbed!” The genius suddenly realized what he had just said on camera. “Awh, shit! Motherfucker!” I noticed he had blood all over his hands and some on his shirt. They also found a bloody knife in his pocket. There was no way in Hell I’d choose to defend the asshole, and I felt sorry for whoever would. Score another one for the District Attorney’s office.

I looked back toward the ambulance and saw them put a sheet over her face. They drove away with most of their lights off. Sad, another life wasted. There was a tug on my hand. The young blonde girl asked, “Can I go to the hospital and see my mom? She’s going to be ok, right? She was ok the last time.”

I put a hand on her shoulder and tried to think of a way to tell her. She saw the look on my face and started to cry again. “NO! She has to be ok! PLEASE! Please make her be ok!”

I didn’t really like kids. They were loud and usually dirty and stinky. This one was dirtier than most, but I sympathized. I let her hug me and made a call after she calmed down a little.

“Family Services, this is Ann.”

“I’m Erik Jansen, a Public Defender. I have a girl here whose mother just passed away. She needs a place to stay, and maybe counselling, or something.”

“Is she injured, or in immediate danger?”

“No, but...”

She irritated me by cutting me off.

“Then we can’t do much today. All beds are full and overflowing. You’re a lawyer, an officer of the court?”

“Yes, but...”

She cut me off again! It’s MY job to cut people off!

“Then you’ve had a background check already, and obviously have a place to live. You can keep her for now and give our office a call Monday. We should have something by ... no, wait, around the thirtieth. Call us at the end of the month, next Wednesday.”

“But I was planning to go out of town, and...”

“I wish there was something we could do, but we just can’t right now.”

I vented my frustration a little, “I answer a knock at the door late at night, I try to help somebody, then I’m stuck with a kid nearly a week! How am I supposed to...”

“Have a good night.”

SHE HUNG UP ON ME!

I nearly threw my cell phone in anger but only yelled, “DAMMIT!” Elly jumped back, looking afraid. I stared up at the sky, clenching and unclenching my fist. I yelled at the moon, “DAMMIT! Why today!”

I forced myself to let the anger go. I guess if I had to take care of the kid, I should do it. “Do you want to go get something to eat, Elly?” She nodded. “After that we’ll get you some new clothes.” I smiled against my will, as the girl held my hand.

I took her to a diner two blocks away and we had burgers and fries. I told her she could stay with me until Family Services got their heads out of their butts in a week or so. She laughed.

I drove her to a big box store, and our first stop was the shoe section. I got her sneakers, slippers, and a pair of sandals. She threw two pairs of high heels in the cart. I worried she might trip and hurt herself. I didn’t want a hospital run for her too. I decided not to object, the kid had a tough day already. In the girl’s clothing section, I had her pick six full outfits. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why women enjoy shopping for clothes so much, but it made her smile. I had plenty of money and hated the idea of doing laundry. In my closet I have four colors of shirts, ten of each, and two colors of pants, twenty of each. Laundry day was a major pain, but I only had to do it about once a month. Household chores bore me to tears. Long ago I had decided that once I was rich I’d get a housekeeper.

I had her get a hairbrush, toothbrush, and toothpaste. She got a small bottle of perfume and a few makeup items. I indulged her. I figured it was better to let her get what she wanted, instead of argue and need to hear her cry again.

On the way to the register, I got her two colorful duffel bags, for her clothes on the day she would leave. I strongly hoped it would be soon. Tropical bimbos and the sights of Europe were calling me!

On the way home, I noticed we would both need showers before we could get to bed, and it was nearly midnight already. I quietly grumbled to myself.

It took two trips to get everything from the car to my apartment. We put everything in the living room, and I showed her the guest room she could stay in. I guess it wasn’t THAT much of a hardship for me. I had a three-bedroom apartment, and nobody had slept in two of them.

I put a couple of fresh towels in the bathroom, and realized I had no plan for the next day. Would she be in school, or go to court with me, or what?

“Elly, where do you go to school?”

She named one nearly twenty miles away. I sarcastically thought, “GREAT!” That’s at least an extra half hour in the morning!

“And I think school is done for the summer soon?”