Lorraine and Griffin were pacing around his study in the penthouse, the smell of freshly ground Arabica coffee beans filling the oak-paneled walls. The prints of Tony Gardner’s paintings where everywhere around them, Einstein peering out from the foam matte board, challenging, begging Lorraine to find some solution to their pending doom.

They only took their eyes off the paintings long enough to glance at each other, and neither liked what the other wasn’t saying.

A knock fell on the open door and Jeremy stuck his head in.

Griffin said, “Come on in, Jer.”

Jeremy and Anton stepped into the little room, Anton stepping past Jeremy to examine the paintings. Jeremy said, “We were just on our way to talk to that lawyer of yours. Are you sure about this? We still say this isn’t the right time.”

Griffin tossed out an amused huff. “Actually, I think this may be your last chance. Take the fifty at least. And the job at the company will cover your insurance. There’s no reason to be proud.”

Anton turned from one of the paintings, a brush-rendered picture of a snowy landscape. “D’ese nice,” he said in his thick Jamaican accent, bending his over six-foot height to look more closely at the pictures. “D’ese aight fer sout’paw, man, aire.”

Lorraine asked, “What’s that? Southpaw?”

Anton said, “Left-hand paintah, can tell by d’ese strokes here. De right-hand paintah do like d’is wit his brush, see?” Anton demonstrated with his right and left hand, each one naturally creating brush strokes in a certain direction.

Lorraine and Griffin stepped toward the painting, each taking a closer look. All the notable strokes of the hashmarks, a criss-cross pattern of brush strokes, had a definite pattern favoring the motion of right to left, with the right-facing up strokes passing over the left-facing down strokes.

Anton turned to another painting, this one of a Paris street, and he pointed out the same cross-hatch pattern. “Pree,” he said, and Lorraine and Griffin were quick to see the similarity. Anton glanced around at the shelves, then turned to the laptop. His long, dark fingers clattered over the keyboard, eyes scanning the monitor. “Pree, pree,” he said, not needing to explain what it meant.

Griffin and Lorraine looked at the monitor, a painting by the great painter Rembrandt, known to be right-handed. A close examination revealed that the cross-hatch pattern was subtly but visibly different, stronger on the strokes heading from left to right, the opposite of the other paintings.

“My God,” Griffin said astounded.

“Which of that lying rat’s arms did you mangle?” Lorraine blurted out.

“Right,” Griffin said, “I’m certain of it.”

Lorraine turned to Anton, and beamed “Anton, I could kiss you right now!”

Anton shrugged. “Mi deh ya,” he said, meaning, I am here. Jeremy smiled and gave Anton a playful swat on the shoulder.

* * *

Lorraine and Griffin sat down at that familiar long table in the deposition room at the county courthouse. The tan walls had little decor save a framed photo of a black-robed judge wearing a stern expression, silently overseeing the proceedings. Attorney Hal Rodney had arranged to have Tony’s original paintings around the room on easels, as before, trying not to smile as Tony Gardner and his lawyer sat down.

Hal turned on the recorder on the table and said, “Mr. Gardner, thank you for joining us again today.”

He nodded broadly. “Awright. So … what?”

“Right to the point,” Hal said with a little smile, setting down a folder and crossing to one of the easels. “Very good. Mister Gardner, these are your paintings, isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He mumbled.

“Take a good look. Are you sure these are the paintings you identified as yours, the paintings you made?” Hal said as his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, man, that’s my name right in the corner. Are you blind?” He retorted, his annoyance starting to bubble up within him.

“I am not,” Hal said, no room for levity in his professionally courteous tone. “But, just because that’s your name, it doesn’t mean you painted the picture.” He let the question hang for a minute before explaining, “After all, somebody may have forged your paintings and switched them, from out of your lawyer’s office’s storage, perhaps.”

Tony sighed, rolled his eyes, and took a good, hard look at one of the paintings. “Did you paint this painting?” Hal repeated in a steady tone.

“Yes,” Tony said, confused and irritated.

Hal pointed to another picture. “What about this one? One of yours, right?”

“Yes, Jesus, I painted ‘em all, okay? You dragged me all the way out here for this?”

“Okay, we’ve established that you painted these paintings.”

“Yes, okay?” Tony said raising his voice.

“Before Mr. Griffin Phoenix inflicted those injuries to your right arm, rendering it useless for painting.”

“That’s right.” Tony confirmed.

“Because, of course, you’re right-handed.” Hal said, recalling the information Tony had previously disclosed.

“Yes, I’m right-friggin’-handed!” He said in a huff as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“But, these paintings, Mr. Gardner, were painted by a left-handed person.” Hal said matter of factly with full conviction. Tony froze in his chair, the unspoken fear clear in his wide eyes and opened mouth, blood draining from his face. Hal crossed to one of the paintings, pointing out the hashmark patters of the brush strokes. “Any professional appraiser or art expert will testify that there’s a subtle difference in the way a left-handed or right-handed person makes these strokes. And you’re clearly right-handed.”

“No, I’m … I’m amphibious.” Tony stuttered.

“You mean ambidextrous?” Hal corrected him.

“Right, that’s right, both-handed.”

“No you’re not, Mr. Gardner, and we can prove that in about seven seconds. Shall I pass you a pen, ask you to write a simple word with your left hand, or do you wanna just come clean?”

Tony looked at Lorraine and Griffin, and Lorraine could sense his desperation, she could almost hear his increasing heartbeat, beads of sweat dripping down the sides of his shorn head. His lawyer stood up, closed his attached case, said, “I can no longer represent this client,” before walking out of the room without looking back, ignoring Tony’s pleas and closing the door behind him.

Hal turned to Tony, who glanced at the door and seemed to be weighing his options. Hal said, “You won’t get halfway down the hall before the cops grab ya. They may even just shoot, depending on how much coke they lifted from the evidence locker.”

Tony looked at him, then at Lorraine and Griffin and back at the attorney.

Hal said, “We’ve got you on attempted grand larceny, attempted fraud, malicious persecution.”

“That’s no big rap, I can fight that!” Tony barked.

“Sure you can … with the public defender, and they process a case every seven minutes. Seven minutes, Mr. Gardner, seven minutes between you and fifty years in jail. You’re a young man, maybe with good behavior you’ll get out in twenty years. You gotta remember that my client here will do everything in his power to ensure that justice is served to the very fullest extent.”

Hal didn’t have to go into detail. Everybody in the room knew what he meant by ensure and justice and fullest extent; he meant favors, bribes, and a forever-unmerciful parole board.

Hal leaned forward, his aging face nearing Tony’s younger, more angular features. “You’ll look a lot worse than me when you get out, Mr. Gardner. And not without reason.” Hal leaned back and stood up to resume pacing around the room, casually passing the very pictures which were meant to destroy Lorraine and Griffin and their family. Instead, they were the weapons of the former would-be rapist’s undoing, and the delivery of his ultimate justice.

“But, things may not be so bad,” Hal said, Lorraine and Griffin holding hands as they watched the interrogation unfold. “If you’ll turn state’s witness against your conspirator, we can reduce the charges, maybe even — ”

“It’s some older broad,” Tony said, not even bothering to wait. “Barclay is her name, Mary Barclay.”

Griffin muttered, “Mary Barclay? She’s about late fifties, graying hair, kind of short, bent posture a bit, talks with a kind of accent, English maybe?”

“That’s right,” Tony said. “Ain’t surprised, said she knew you, used to be your maid or something.”

Lorraine said, “Marion Beemish … Mrs. B.!”

“Has to be,” Griffin said, turning to Tony. “She’s left-handed, too.”

Hal asked, “You didn’t know she painted?”

“She only worked for me for about two years.” Griffin turned to Tony. “Where is she, you rat bastard?”

Tony shrugged. “I never visited her, she only came to see me. So I don’t know, do I?”

Griffin released a frustrated roar and rushed Tony, grabbing him by his collar and smashing him against the wall. “What are you planning? Where is she?” Griffin roared.

“I don’t know where she is! All we’re doing is suin’ you, man!”

Hal forced himself between Griffin and Tony, Lorraine willing to sit and watch Griffin get in a few shots. Tony deserved it, and a lot more. Hal pushed a button and the door opened, two uniformed officers rushing into the room.

“Thank God,” Tony said, “I want this maniac arrested. He keeps attacking me … and I’m a cripple!”

Hal said to the officers, “Charge him, Officers, attempted grand larceny, conspiracy, sexual assault, attempted rape … ”

“Wait a minute, man!” Tony’s voice cracking under the pressure.

“Get his phone … as evidence.” Griffin instructed.

Tony struggled feebly as the unformed officers closed in on him, wrenching his hands behind his back. “Oh man, this ain’t right! We made a deal!” He desperately pleaded.

Hal said, “After you testify, we’ll do what we can on our end. ’Til then, you’re under wraps, pal.”

“What? Waddaya mean? For how long?” Tony stuttered.

Hal shrugged. “Depends on how much money you can raise for bail.” Hal looked over the head-shaved, scraggily Tony, right arm bent, palm up. “Worst case, I’d say not more than a few months, maybe a year. But, I may not be able to avoid … stretching things out, for the sake of juris prudence, you understand.”

Tony started to kick and buck as they dragged him out of the room. Hal said, “Don’t feel too bad … My guess is they’ll kill you in the shower before you ever get to trial.”

The officers dragged Tony away for what Lorraine and Griffin were convinced would be the last time.

* * *

Lorraine stood near the pool on the porch outside their penthouse, all of Manhattan spread out at her feet. Rows of buildings both grand and ostentatious were lined up in perfect rows, cars crawling down the streets, avenues and boulevards between those concrete canyon walls. Lorraine had enjoyed this view so many times, from so many angles and at so many different times over the past few years. She’d crawled the streets as a would-be success, barely clinging to survival. She’d run down these streets, chased by shadowy figures. She’d crept around with a lethal firearm, as dangerous as anybody in those grimy, concrete nooks and crannies of that endless metal maze of Manhattan and the other boroughs.

Griffin entered from the hallway, setting his smartphone down on the dining room table before stepping out onto the porch. He quietly approached her, wrapping his powerful arms around her waist and pulling her close, gentle but strong and kissing the nape of her neck.

Despite their recent victory, have snatched victory from the jaws of defeat, Lorraine knew Griffin wasn’t bringing good news, and she didn’t have to ask.

“Missus B.’s gone,” he said. “They had two leads, apartments in various parts of town, the most recent abandoned three days ago.”

“Airlines? ‘Mary Barclay’ had to go somewhere, I’d think it would be as far away as possible.” She speculated.

“No word yet,” Griffin said, a moment of concerned quiet enveloping the two, the gritty city buzzing beneath them.

Lorraine turned to Griffin, their faces inches from one another. “What about Ashe?”

“I don’t think he had anything to do with Tony or Mrs. B — ”

Lorraine playfully slapped his chest and pouted. “Don’t tease me, Grif. Should we cancel his play?”

“Oh no, Lorraine, not again, it’ll push the kid over the edge. You know how much he’s wrapped up in it, how much it means to him.”

“Of course I do … I’m in it!”

“But, you never were comfortable with it, were you?”

“Griffin, I quit the Education Department in exchange for the pressure it took the get that school play back up on the boards.”

“I know you did, Lorraine, and I’m so proud of you for that, what a gesture. But, there were other reasons for you to walk away from that department.” Lorraine knew he was right, though she didn’t feel like admitting it. Instead, she let Griffin go on with, “Anyway, why cancel the play? You’ve quit the department, your petition’s been taken down, we’ve even beaten the law suit. Won’t be long until our reputation comes back, Phoenix Enterprises replaces its old contracts. Nobody has any reason to bother with you or me, certainly not our kids.”

“But … Mrs. B. is still out there somewhere.” Lorraine reminded Griffin.

“Yeah, a fifty-something-year-old woman whose best shot at the good life just went up in smoke. It was a cagy gambit, I can’t deny that.” He shook his head.

“Neither can I, that’s what worries me.”

“She had an ally, Lorraine, and he’s finally behind bars forever. This time they won’t mishandle the custody, I’ll see to it. And he’s not lawyered up anymore, either.”

“That’s true.” She agreed, considering Griffin’s words.

“And what’s old Mrs. B. gonna do on her own? Lorraine, you could kick her ass.” He let out a chuckle.

“And I would if I had to.” She put her hands on her hips, imitating Wonder Woman.

Griffin chuckled and gave her a little kiss on the temple. “There’s my girl. But, it's guaranteed she’s hiding out somewhere. She’s this close to dying in jail, she’s gotta know that. She’s probably laying low in a shire somewhere in England. We’ll see if we can’t track her down, but I really don’t think she’s gonna be a problem, certainly not for Ashe and his play. She was always very fond of Ashe.”

That didn’t bring Lorraine much solace. Griffin’s logic was hard for her to contradict, and Lorraine was tired and relieved and exhilarated enough to embrace a happy ending for her family at long last. Ashe’s play would be a victory lap, a celebration, a rebirth.

But a nervous curl in Lorraine’s gut told her it wouldn’t be that easy. It never had been before. Lorraine was struck with the instinctive feeling that things had never been more challenging, that her adversaries were still hiding, waiting to deliver the final, killing stroke.

And she knew her neck wasn't the only one on the block.