Текст книги "Painless"

Автор книги: Devon Hartford

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Schlosser continued asking Grossman a litany of questions: the severity of his injuries, how long he was off of work, how much pain he was in immediately after the attack and in the weeks following. It went on and on. Horst Grossman sounded like the most level headed, reasonable guy on the planet. George Schlosser was so smart with his questions, there was little Russell could object to.

I was on the edge of my seat when Schlosser finally turned things over to Russell.

Russell stepped confidently to the podium and went straight to work on Grossman. “Do you remember saying anything to Mr. Manos when he approached you?”

“Not that I recall,” Grossman answered promptly.

“You didn’t say anything to provoke him?”

“Not that I recall.”

“You didn’t make any threatening remarks?”

“Not that I recall.”

Fuck, Grossman had the most selective memory of all time. If he was going to lie his way through cross examination, I was fucked.

“How long would you estimate it was between the time you turned to face Mr. Manos and when you claim he attacked you?”

“I don’t know, maybe five seconds?” Grossman said thoughtfully.

Now he remembered. Too bad his recollection was a tad inaccurate.

“Did you make any moves that might have provoked Mr. Manos?”

“None that I recall.”

“You didn’t move toward him suddenly?”

“I don’t think so.”

Russell noticeably rolled his eyes. I couldn’t blame him. I wanted to roll mine, but I stared straight at Grossman as blandly as possible. I hoped the jury didn’t spot the daggers and bullets sneaking out of my eyes, because they were flying out at a thousand rounds a minute.

Russell asked Grossman, “You didn’t move an inch?”

“I don’t think so,” Grossman answered.

“Did you stand immobile, like a statue?” Russell asked in a tone that bordered on comical.

Grossman chuckled agreeably. “Of course not. But I didn’t make any sudden movements.”

“You’re sure?” Russell said doubtfully. “May I remind you, Mr. Grossman, that you are testifying under oath?”

Grossman’s brows furrowed. “I know that, sir, and I didn’t make any sudden moves.”

“That seems odd to me, Mr. Grossman. You’re saying that the defendant got off of his motorcycle, walked up to you, a complete stranger, and simply punched you in the stomach? Then he led you to the curb and asked you if you needed an ambulance?”

“It was the strangest thing…” Grossman mused thoughtfully.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Russell marveled, a grin of disbelief tugging at the corners of his mouth.

I was marveling too. Grossman was totally lying. But there was no way to prove it.

Russell asked more questions about the attack and the aftermath, including Grossman’s supposed injuries, but the man deflected all of Russell’s questions like the greatest goal tender in the history of sports. I couldn’t believe it. Grossman was a total pro on the stand.

Russell finally ran out of questions and sat down.

“Anything further, counselors?” the judge asked.

“No, your honor,” Schlosser said from the prosecutor’s table.

“Nothing further, your honor,” Russell said.

“The State rests, your honor,” Schlosser said.

Grossman stepped down from the witness stand.

“All right,” Judge Moody said, “we’ll take a short fifteen minute recess, then the defense will call its first witness.” She banged the gavel with finality.

Fuck. The score was now: the State: 3, Me: 0

The only way I was going to score any points with the jury was when Russell called me to the stand, giving me the opportunity to finally tell my version of events. If I was lucky, this would win me a point with the jury, bringing the score up to 3 to 1. Too bad Schlosser would get to follow up with questions about my criminal past during cross examination. He could very well undermine any advantage I’d gained from telling my side of the story. If things went poorly, after I was finished testifying, the score could be back to 3 to 0, or worse, the jury might view me as a criminal. Because everyone knew: once a criminal, always a criminal. That would score a point for the prosecution. The way I saw it, that would put things at 4 to 0.

Sadly, it didn’t matter. Whether it was 3-0, 3-1, or 4-0, I was the loser in every scenario.

I needed an NFL wide receiver to run right onto this soccer field and catch a Hail Mary touchdown pass, or I was fucked.

Too bad there were no wide receivers in soccer.

* * *

SAMANTHA

The traffic jam finally cleared enough for the emergency crews to let cars start going through. It took forever for everyone to merge into the one lane that was open and squeeze around the wreck.

The Ralph’s semi and the other cars involved in the accident were all twisted, crunched, and blackened. The firemen were still milling about and hosing things down, but nothing appeared to be burning anymore. The people who’d been air lifted out by the helicopter were long gone. I took a moment to remind myself that their days were going way worse than mine.

I stuck to 65 mph on the way downtown, paranoid I might get pulled over by the CHP if I tried to speed. I didn’t need any more delays. I kept a four second following distance from the cars in front of me. I didn’t want to somehow get in a wreck of my own. That bitch Lady Luck had been working against me all morning, so I wasn’t giving her any opportunities to further fuck me over.

I exited the freeway at Front Street and headed toward the courthouse. There were a bunch of one way streets and I got turned around several times before I found the courthouse on Broadway.

Did the courthouse have priority parking for panicky girlfriends? No. Did they have any parking whatsoever? None that I could see.

I was tempted to ditch my car on the steps of the courthouse and run inside. Crap. That wasn’t an option. I drove around the block and stopped at the first parking garage I could find. They wanted twenty five bucks! I didn’t care. I threw some bills at the parking attendant and parked on the third floor.

I took my heels off and carried them while I ran from my car to the courthouse. Lucky for me the San Diego sidewalks were relatively clean. The courthouse was a huge building with a bunch of Roman columns out front and the words ‘Hall of Justice’ in big letters above the entrance. Did Superman and Wonder Woman work here? Why hadn’t Wonder Woman flown her invisible jet to pick me up from the traffic jam? Or Superman could’ve just hopped out his window and swooped me out of my car. Those guys were getting lazy.

I put my shoes on and walked through the doors. Then I got in line for the security check and promptly took my shoes back off. And my belt. Why? I wasn’t flying anywhere. Couldn’t they see I wasn’t a terrorist? So what if my blouse was soaked with sweat? I know I was close to losing my cool because one more delay was going to broil my brain and send me into seizures, but it wasn’t like I had a bomb in my purse.

After I finished with security, I stopped in my tracks. Where the hell was Christos’ courtroom? There must’ve been a hundred rooms in this place! I grabbed several people walking by and asked if they knew where the Manos trial was, hoping that was what it was called. Every person I grabbed looked at me like I was insane. I wanted to tell them I didn’t have a bomb in my purse, nor was I a terrorist, but I deduced that would not help matters any.

So I started opening courtroom doors at random. Every time I did, whatever was going on inside ground to a halt. Everyone turned to stare at me and the lawyers glared at me like I was ruining their lawyer mojo. What the heck was the problem? I was being quiet. It might have been because all of the courtrooms were so small. Where were the huge ones you saw in all the movies?

More importantly, were the heck was Christos?

I was never going to find him.

This building had at least ten stories. Did I have to go from floor to floor opening every single door? That could take hours. But nobody I’d asked had a clue where Christos’ trial was.

What if I’d driven to the wrong court house?

Fuck!

Chapter 9

CHRISTOS

We all filed into the courtroom after the recess. The judge sat down at her bench and called in the jury.

“Mr. Merriweather,” Judge Moody said to Russell, “you may call your first witness.”

Russell leaned over and whispered in my ear, “You ready to do this?”

I took a huge breath. “Yeah.”

Time to roll the dice.

Time for me to step up and testify.

I felt my balls crawl up inside my pelvis. I think the hair on my head was trying to crawl back into my scalp and my fingernails were retracting. Every part of my body was attempting to avoid disaster or injury. This was it. Up on the high wire without a net. Did I fall to my death in the middle of my performance or finish with a flourish to the sound of applause?

“Psst!”

I whipped around to see who was hissing in my ear.

It was Samantha.

I nearly jumped out of my seat.

“Samoula?” my grandfather whispered, looking confused.

Brianna looked up from her laptop and stared at Samantha like she had just stepped off the Crazy Train from Crazy Town.

Russell’s head swiveled slowly around like a gun turret. He leveled a bludgeoning gaze at Samantha. He had no idea who she was. “Excuse me, young lady,” he whispered sternly, “may I help you?”

“I have a video!” Samantha hissed.

“What?” Russell asked bluntly.

“You should sit down, agápi mou,” I said softly.

“You really need to see this video!” Samantha whispered. “It’s on my phone.” She held it over the low railing between the observer’s benches and the floor of the courtroom proper. She gave a little wave to my grandfather and smiled at him.

“Young lady, court is in session,” Russell warned. “You keep talking, and the judge is liable to cite you for contempt of court. I suggest you return to your seat and behave yourself or I will have you escorted out of here myself.”

“This is important!” Samantha pleaded. “Tell him, Christos!”

“Do you know this miscreant?” Russell asked me sharply, narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I sort of do.”

Samantha slapped my shoulder and frowned at me. “Sort of?”

I repressed a chuckle. “Russell, meet Samantha Smith. She’s my girlfriend.”

Russell raised his eyebrows. “Pleased to meet you, Samantha,” he said politely. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re in the middle of a trial. I’m trying to keep your boyfriend out of the slammer. Unless you have a very good reason for interrupting, I suggest you sit down immediately and keep quiet.”

“But I have video of what happened!” Samantha pleaded.

“What are you talking about?” Russell asked, perplexed.

“Mr. Merriweather,” Judge Moody interrupted, “do we have a problem?”

Russell smiled at the judge. “No, your honor, not at all. May we have a moment?”

“Make it quick, Mr. Merriweather,” Judge Moody ordered.

“I have video of him!” Samantha hissed.

“Of who?” I asked.

“I found a video online of you punching that guy sitting right over there!” She pointed at Horst Grossman who sat on the far side of the witness gallery, behind the prosecutor’s table.

Both of Russell’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Come again?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I said, “Samantha, are you serious?”

She nodded. “Yes!”

Judge Geraldine fired a stern look at the three of us. “Any time, Mr. Merriweather.”

“One moment, your honor,” Russell said. “I may have just received information that bears on this case.”

“May have or have?” the judged asked impatiently.

“If you would kindly give me a moment, your honor, I will let you know.”

“Do I need to call another recess five minutes after the last one?”

“No, your honor. This will only take a moment.”

“You have two minutes, counselor.”

Russell turned to Samantha. “Do you have the video on your phone?”

“Yes.”

“Is it ready to play?”

“Yes.”

“May I see it?”

Samantha handed the phone to Russell.

I leaned over his shoulder and he pressed play.

The video was amazingly clear. You could see Horst Grossman’s face clearly as he shouted and screamed at Samantha in her VW. You could even see Samantha’s face inside her car, and me when I walked up in my helmet, before and after Grossman lunged and I punched. Whoever shot it must have been planning on studying cinematography at USC film school. The audio was a bit choppy, but you could hear most of what Horst Grossman said.

Russell glanced between Samantha and the phone. “Is that you?” he asked, pointing at the tiny image of Samantha in her VW.

She nodded.

In a low voice, Russell said, “Christos, you’re lucky we’re in court. Otherwise I’d smack you upside the head. Then I’d turn you around and smack you up the other side. Why didn’t you tell me your girlfriend was the girl in the car? Are you crazy? No, don’t answer that. Because I know you’re crazy.” He turned to Samantha. “Where did you find this video?”

“On somebody’s blog. It’s not even a Youtube video. It was on Vimeo.”

“We checked the road rage videos,” Russell said, confused, “and we checked Vimeo. And Youtube. And everywhere else. Several times. We couldn’t find anything.”

“I think whoever uploaded just posted it. See, the upload date is two days ago and it only has a few hundred hits. It took me all night to find it because of how it was labelled.”

“You’re quite the private investigator,” Russell said. “What was your name again?”

“Samantha Smith.”

“Thank you, Ms. Smith. I think you just saved your boyfriend’s ass.” Russell smiled. “Would you have any objection to going up on the witness stand to testify in Christos’ defense?”

“Me?” she gasped.

“Yes, you. If the judge will allow it, we can keep Christos off the stand.”

“Of course! I’ll totally do it!” she said.

“Do me a favor,” Russell said, “email the URL of that website to my assistant.” He nodded toward Brianna and said, “Ms. Smith, this is Brianna Johnson.”

Brianna and Samantha shook hands then Samantha fired off the email to her.

“Got it,” Brianna said a few seconds later. I watched her pull the video up on her laptop. It turned out the courthouse had great wi-fi service.

Russell stood up, faced the judge, and in his most charming, winning voice, said, “Your honor, may counsel approach the bench?”

“This better be good, Mr. Merriweather.”

George Schlosser and his team were staring at us openly. They had no idea what was about to hit them.

“I think you’re going to be amused, your honor,” Russell said thoughtfully. “I certainly am.”

“You may approach, counselors,” the judge said.

Russell, Brianna, George Schlosser, and his two assistants walked up to Geraldine Moody’s bench.

In a soft voice I could barely hear, Russell explained everything to the judge. He pointed at Samantha several times. When he did, Schlosser and his team gave Samantha dirty looks.

Brianna set her laptop on the corner of the judge’s bench so that the judge could view the video. Schlosser and his team had to crane over to see the screen when Brianna played the video.

At first, Judge Moody was bored, but as the video unrolled, she became entranced and literally leaned forward on the edge of her seat. When the video finished, she said, “Can I see that again?”

“Certainly, your honor,” Russell said. “Brianna, please play it again.”

Brianna nodded and reset the video.

After the second viewing, Schlosser growled, “This is preposterous, your honor. There’s no way you can allow this into evidence. I need time to verify that the woman in this video is the one standing over there.”

“It looks like the same young woman to me,” Judge Moody said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“That may very well be,” Schlosser huffed, “but if it turns out she is the woman in the video, I still need time to depose her properly. I have no idea what her testimony might be.”

“Neither do I,” Russell said.

Schlosser scoffed at him, then turned to Judge Moody and said, “Your honor, freshman tactics like these aren’t fit for this courtroom,” he said it like Russell was a known liar, “I suggest we leave them in trashy novels and circus tents where they belong.”

“I’ll decide what flies in my own courtroom, Mr. Schlosser,” the judge said in a parental tone. “Mr. Merriweather, have you had an opportunity to interview this surprise witness of yours?” Judge Moody asked.

“No, I have not, your honor,” Russell said. “I wasn’t aware of her existence until she stepped into this courtroom today.”

The judge raised a skeptical eyebrow at Russell.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at her.

Schlosser rolled his eyes at both of them.

“I’ll allow it,” Judge Moody said.

“But—” Schlosser interjected.

The judge cut him off. “Mr. Schlosser, you’ve been doing this long enough. Improvise. In light of this video, you’re lucky I don’t dismiss this case on the spot. Would you like me to do that?”

Schlosser smiled endearingly, “Your honor, I—”

“Yes or no, counselor,” the judge said.

Schlosser huffed a hard sigh. “As you wish, your honor.”

“Excellent. Mr. Merriweather, please see that Mr. Schlosser gets the link to this video. We’ll take a one hour recess, during which time both your teams can review the video in depth and formulate your arguments.” She banged her gavel. “Court is in recess for one hour.”

* * *

Samantha’s testimony and the amazing video footage turned the trial on its head.

Russell played the video on the big projection screen while Samantha was on the witness stand. He paused the video intermittently to ask her questions to help clarify details of what was happening.

I watched with a minimal grin on my face while the moments before I’d gotten off my bike for the first time unwound on the screen. I did my best not to look smug in front of the jury. It was damn hard.

The video had close ups on Grossman’s face as he shouted at Samantha and tried to pry her car window down. He looked like a raging lunatic. The jury watched in stark, wide-eyed amazement as Grossman frothed at the mouth in the video and turned beet red while he called Samantha a bitch, a slut, a whore, and a pinhead. One of the female jurors giggled in disbelief when Grossman kicked the door of Samantha’s VW.

The knock out punch, both literally and figuratively, came when Grossman lunged at me in the video. I had been standing calmly in front of him. Everyone in the courtroom could clearly see that Grossman had tried to tackle me before I’d side stepped out of his way and punched him.

I glanced over and saw Deputy District Attorney George Schlosser running a hand through his hair. He looked defeated, like he’d just been punched.

When Russell finished asking Samantha questions and sat down, Schlosser was finishing a quiet discussion with his assistants. After a moment, they all nodded at each other.

Schlosser stood up and said, “Your honor, due to the unforeseen developments regarding the evidence in this case, the state has decided to drop all charges against the defendant.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Schlosser? I don’t want to come back and do this again,” the judge said.

“Yes, your honor,” Schlosser said.

“Let the record show that in the matter of the State of California vs. Christos Manos, case number SD-2013-K-071183A,” the judge intoned, “the State has dropped all charges. She banged her gavel. “Case dismissed. Mr. Manos, you are free to go.”

For a second, I couldn’t believe my ears.

The huge smile that spread across Russell’s face proved that I hadn’t been hallucinating. “Congratulations, son,” he said while shaking my hand and squeezing my shoulder vigorously, “let’s agree never to do this again. Feel me?”

“Agreed,” I said, grinning from ear to ear.

He pointed at me with a jabbing finger. “I mean it, son. No more bullshit. You’ve got better things to do than waste my time in a courtroom.”

“You know me too well,” I smiled. “I promise, no more courtroom bullshit.”

With any luck, I’d be able to live up to my promise.

* * *

SAMANTHA

I practically jumped over the witness stand trying to get to Christos when the judge dismissed the case.

Christos came out from behind the defense table and I leapt into his arms.

“We did it!” I squealed.

He spun me around once and set me down. “No, you did it, agápi mou. You won this case single handed.” He glanced at his lawyer and said, “I mean, Russell helped, but you, Samantha, stole the show. Samantha, meet my attorney, Russell Merriweather. He’s an old friend of the family.”

I shook Russell’s hand, “Nice to meet you.”

“Christos is right, Ms. Smith,” Russell smiled. “You should send him a bill.”

I grinned. “Nah, I’ll figure out a way to make him pay for it with services rendered.”

Christos chuckled. “Gladly.”

Brianna Johnson walked around the defense table and frowned at Christos. “Christos, how could you forget to mention to Russell and I that your girlfriend was at the crime scene?”

Christos shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

“You could’ve saved yourself a whole lot of time and trouble had you told us sooner,” Brianna admonished.

Christos cracked out a dimpled grin. “I was trying to save Samantha a whole lot of time and trouble.” He rubbed his hand against my shoulder. “She has better things to do.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Russell was right, Christos. You are crazy!” I looked at Brianna for agreement.

She gave me a sisterly smile and shook her head, “Men! I swear, if it wasn’t for us women, they wouldn’t be able to tie their own shoes!”

“I know, right?” I smiled.

“Hey,” Christos quipped, “I’m standing right here.”

“Good. Then maybe what we’re saying might sink in.” Brianna winked at me. “Despite his thick head, Christos is a good young man. But don’t you let him weasel out of doing a few chores to make up for all the trouble he’s put you through.”

“I won’t,” I smiled.

Spiridon walked up a moment later with someone who could only be Christos’ dad. They both exchanged big hugs with Christos.

“The Manos men,” Russell said proudly, smiling at all three of them, “all up in this here thing.”

“Samantha,” Christos said, “I want you to meet my dad, Nikolos Manos.”

I shook Nikolos’ hand. He looked like a slightly older version of Christos. He was as dashing as his son and had the same priceless blue eyes. Seeing the three of them together, it was obvious that Christos was going to be painfully gorgeous at every stage of life. I know people said that George Clooney got better looking as he got older, but Nikolos and Spiridon put poor George to shame.

“I’ve heard all about you,” Nikolos smiled. “My father tells me that you’re a good young woman, and a talented artist too. Maybe you could teach my son a thing or two about painting. He needs all the help he can get,” he winked.

Spiridon smiled at me. “Yes. Samoula has moved into the house to be Christos’ private painting tutor. Isn’t that right, koritsáki mou?” He patted me affectionately on the shoulder.

I was so overwhelmed by all of it, the relief that Christos’ trial was over and the sense of having a family that I absolutely adored, that I couldn’t speak. I smiled and nodded my reply as tears blurred my vision. I did my best to hold them in as the group of us walked out of the courtroom together.

Now that it was over, I secretly hoped that would be the last time I ever set foot in a courtroom. Between Taylor Lamberth, Damian Wolfram, and Christos, I’d had enough trials to last a lifetime.

* * *

CHRISTOS

I inhaled a deep breath of mellow afternoon air as we stood in front of the Hall of Justice in the San Diego sun.

I was free.

It still hadn’t quite sunk in. Part of me had been fully prepared to be led out of the courtroom in handcuffs and trucked off to prison after my trial. The foggy claws of that fear still nicked at the back of my neck. Not to worry. They’d fade. I was in the clear. I was with my family and friends, and I was free.

“Who wants to celebrate?” I smiled. “I was thinking drinks and dinner at the Yard House up the street? I’m buying.”

“You’ve spent enough money on me already,” Russell smiled. “We can all head over there and I’ll pick up the tab.”

“Christos Manos?” some random guy walked up and asked abruptly. He had come from the direction of the Hall of Justice and wore an expensive suit and held a briefcase. Was he a court clerk or something?

I narrowed my eyes. “Who wants to know?”

“Are you Christos Manos?” the guy asked again.

Now that I’d had a chance to look at him, he didn’t seem threatening. But he held a thick white business envelope in his hand. “Yeah, I’m him. What do you want?”

The guy raised his arm and jabbed the envelope at me. “You’ve been served.”

I shook my head and took the envelope from him. He immediately walked away.

“Christos, Christos, Christos,” Russell sighed. “What is it this time, young man?”

I opened the envelope and read the paperwork.

“What?” Samantha asked, worried.

I sighed heavily. “Hunter Blakeley is suing me.”

“What? Why?” Samantha frowned. “Because you tripped him that day at SDU?”

She was referring to the time I’d walked up on Hunter giving shit to her and Romeo in the Eucalyptus grove on campus. “No. Because I punched him in the face.”

“When?” Samantha asked.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I want to know,” Russell interrupted. He took the summons from me. “And I want to know who all was involved. No more of these last minute surprises.” He scanned over the paperwork. “This is a civil suit, Christos. He’s suing you for damages. Did you hit him?”

“Yes,” I sighed. “But it was self defense.”

“I’m sure it was,” Russell said.

I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. He was probably pissed that I’d walked out of one trial and right into another. I couldn’t blame him.

“Look,” I said, “A couple weeks ago, Hunter and three of his buddies followed me and Jake after we left Hooters. Hunter took a swing at me, so I back-handed him in the nose. Once.”

Russell pursed his lips while his brow knotted over his dark eyes. “Sounds familiar. Unfortunately, a civil trial isn’t like a criminal trial, son. If you hit him, you’re probably going to have to pay. The only thing I can do is work to minimize what you’ll owe him.” He flipped through several pages of the document. “Which, in this case, is a whole hell of a lot. This guy’s attorney is asking for a million in medical bills, lost wages, and pain and suffering. We can cut that down quite a bit. But I might not be able to make it all go away. May I ask, did you have a film crew on hand to save your ass in court this time around?”

“I doubt it,” I said. “It was the middle of the night on an empty street. No one was there except Jake and the three guys with Hunter.”

“All right,” Russell said. “We’ll figure it out. In the mean time, may I please beg that you not get in any more fights? Is that possible? Or am I asking for water from a stone?”

Everyone was staring at me expectantly. Samantha, my dad, my grandad, Brianna, and Russell. All had skeptical looks on their faces.

“Come on, guys,” I pleaded, “the only reason any of this shit started is because I was defending Samantha. The first time at her VW, the second time in the Eucalyptus grove at SDU. Hunter never would’ve cornered me and Jake that night if I hadn’t tripped him that day at SDU. He was still pissed I’d made him look foolish.”

“While your actions have been honorable,” Russell admonished, “the next time there’s trouble, I encourage you to run the other way. Feel me?” He raised a doubtful eyebrow, but a slight smile betrayed his seriousness.

“What about Samantha?” I asked. “What if I need to protect her? I’m not going to leave her in trouble.”

“You’re a strong boy,” Russell smirked. “Pick her up, throw her over your shoulder, and run.”

I chuckled, “I can handle that.”

Russell put a big hand on the back of my neck. “All right, you all. I’ve had enough courtroom drama for one day. Let’s get some dinner.”

We all walked east on Broadway and went inside the Yard House. Since it was early and the dinner rush hadn’t set in, we got a table for six right away.

While we waited for our waiter to take our drink order, I checked my phone. Tons of texts and voicemails from Samantha. I felt like a jerk. She must’ve been freaking out trying to reach me. I’d make up for it later.

But the last text to come in was from Brandon Charboneau.

How are the paintings coming along? I want to book the gallery for your show, but I can’t set a date until you give me one. Let me know.

Fucking great. I had never told Brandon about the trial. He’d been cracking the whip enough as it was without knowing. I hadn’t wanted him going nuts thinking I had to get everything done before I ended up in prison. It would’ve created way too much tension between us.

Now that my trial was finally over, the last thing I wanted to do was jump back in the studio to continue painting a bunch of models I had no interest in painting.

Before, I had been painting them mostly to keep my mind off the Grossman trial. Work was always a good distraction. On the bright side, now that I had this ridiculous Hunter Blakeley civil suit hanging over my head, the work might be just what I needed to keep me motivated. I’d spent a huge amount of my money on Russell. His services weren’t cheap. If I ended up paying out to Hunter, even if I only owed him a fraction of the amount he was asking, I’d be broke.

I needed to earn some cash quick. Cranking out the canvases for Brandon was a good a way as any to pull in more Benjamins.

And now that Samantha had moved in, she could watch me hanging out with hot naked chicks seven days a week. She wouldn’t miss a moment of the excitement. I’m sure she’d have the time of her life.

Fuck. Like everything else, I’d worry about it later. When the waitress arrived, I ordered a double shot of Basil Hayden bourbon.

Let the drinking begin.

* * *

SAMANTHA

“How much did you drink?” I asked Christos as everyone walked out of the Yard House onto Broadway.

“Lost count,” Christos slurred.

“You weigh a million pounds,” I grunted. His arm was over my shoulder and he leaned against me. It felt like a building had fallen onto me.

“Let me help you, Samantha,” Nikolos said, concerned. He grabbed Christos’ other arm and stood him up easily, taking all of his weight.

“Where’s my Camaro?” Christos asked.

“You’re not driving, paidí mou,” Nikolos said, “not like this.”

Christos wasn’t sloppy drunk, but he was in the neighborhood. This was the first time I’d seen him like this. I couldn’t blame him. He’d had a stressful day.