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Samantha
My day starts off great. Maybe that’s why I have this little niggling feeling that something’s going to happen. Something big and maybe bad. Call it women’s intuition or maybe it’s attorney’s suspicion. I have a gut instinct that doesn’t like too much positive karma for fear that it’ll all swing back the other way.
When you wake up five minutes before your alarm, style your hair in record time, make it to the subway early enough to grab your favorite coffee and receive chocolates from your boss for hard work all in one morning, it’s hard not to be watching where you step for fear you’ll break your ankle to even the score. Add to it that a very sexy man engages me in conversation at the deli counter and then slips me his card, and I’m positively dreading the downward slip of bad luck that’s heading my way.
Then the phone rings and I know this is what my day has been building up to, as ridiculous as that sounds.
“Samantha Corrigan?” The voice on the line is deep and husky in a way that reeks of danger.
“Yes, speaking,” I say, with no idea who’s on the other end of the line. I shift forward on to the edge of my seat and grab a pen, ready to jot down anything useful.
“A friend of mine has been arrested today. I want you to represent him. Can you get down to the Spring Street Police Station now?”
“I can be there in an hour,” I say, writing Spring Street on my legal pad. “What’s the name?”
“Ask for Connor,” he says. “He’ll be in the waiting room.” Then he hangs up.
“Connor,” I mumble, jotting it down too. I check my phone for a record of the last call received but it’s unknown.
When you’re an attorney specializing in defense cases you get used to calls that come out of nowhere, but it’s usually the defendant or his family that make the arrangements and I usually have a few more details provided before I arrive at the police station. The mystery caller didn’t even tell me what his friend’s been arrested for.
Strange.
I make a few phone calls and send three emails for other cases that just can’t wait. Then I’m out the door with my briefcase, hopping into a cab outside the office and heading to Spring Street.
It’s a beautiful day, the perfect mix of sunshine and breeze, without too much humidity. Outside the station I catch a scent on the air, floral and damp as though someone has been watering hanging baskets, and it reminds me of days spent in the backyard, dancing under sprinklers with Brandon. I think about him every so often. He’s a part of my past that seems so distant that it takes a song, a scent or another person with the same name for me to recall my long-ago stepbrother. It’s been fifteen years since he left, promising he would keep in touch. Shit. I swallow down a lump in my throat as I recall the day his dad came to collect him. He sat in the backseat of his father’s truck with his head hanging forward, not wanting me to see how upset he was about leaving. By that point I’d become used to holding in my tears.
I make my way through the automatic doors and into the cool waiting area, pushing those memories aside. It smells musty, like old magazines and unwashed bodies, the nose-wrinkling odor of crime. I scan left and right looking for someone who resembles a ‘Connor’ and a huge, hulking man stands up and makes his way over. He has that way of walking that is part stalking animal and part aggressive human male. Shorn hair and all black clothes make him menacing, but I’m used to dealing with individuals like him. I draw myself up to my full height, 5’8” plus my skyscraper heels. Even so, I only reach his chin when he comes to stand way too close. “Samantha,” he says surprisingly quietly.
“Connor?” I ask.
He nods and draws a brown envelope from inside his bomber jacket. “This is for you. There’s payment inside. When you need more, there’s a number inside the envelope for you to contact. The man you’re representing is being held on assault charges. It’s important that he gets released without charge.”
“Okay,” I say, taking hold of the envelope cautiously. Cash handed over in envelopes is highly irregular, and the envelope is fat enough for me to suppose it contains a large quantity. I want to tell Connor this but I can tell he’s just carrying out someone else’s instructions, probably someone he wouldn’t want to ignore. “What’s my client’s name?”
“Brandon Ford,” he says, and I blink at him in shock.
“Brandon Ford?” It’s not a particularly unusual name but it’s weird that I was just thinking about my ex-stepbrother and now here’s Connor mentioning his name.
“Yeah,” Connor says, stepping back and looking towards the door. “Look, I’ve gotta go. I’ve been sitting here for hours and I got shit to do. You got it from here?”
“Yes,” I say, although inside I’m not sure I have.
Connor nods and makes for the exit and I turn to the desk in a haze of memories tinged with a little bit of fear. It can’t be my Brandon being held in those cells. He was a good kid. Clever and quiet. I tell myself that it’ll be some other Brandon Ford I’m representing and everything will be fine.
The desk officer ushers me though and I talk to the officer working on the case. The Brandon Ford being held in the cells got into a bar fight and beat a man. The officer says it was quite brutal. He also says that Mr. Ford is suspected of being a member of a local crime organization, known for their involvement in illegal gambling, drug running and other nefarious activities.
I ask if he has an existing record and the office mentions a couple of other charges that were dropped. Then, when I’ve finished jotting down my notes, I’m taken towards the interview room where I will meet my new client. My navy patent heels click on the tiled floor and I adjust my purse on my shoulder, feeling ridiculously nervous. Half of me is desperate to open that door and find that Brandon Ford the criminal is a stranger to me, but the other half is so damn desperate to see my stepbrother again. Hearing his name has brought up a swell of old feelings inside me that has left me feeling shaky.
Just as the officer opens the door, I remember how good my day has been so far. Whoever is behind that door is about to change all that. I can feel it in my bones.