Passage to Remorse

I had known Liz, probably the best attorney in Los Angeles, since she’d been a deputy Los Angeles County DA. But she wasn’t a prosecutor anymore. She was a senior litigator for Ross, Logan and Harper, and a partner of the firm. Few things could distract me from a Dodger game, but Liz was one of them. She had honey blonde hair, first rate hips, the best legs I’d ever seen, and more attitude than a junkyard dog. I reached back and switched off the radio.

“Coffee?” I said.

Liz sat down in a visitor’s chair, leaned back a little, and crossed her legs. Yes, the skirt was a little short for business. But I didn’t care about that anymore than Liz did. I approved of it.

“Got anything a little stronger?” she said.

“Sure,” I said. “Must be five o’clock somewhere.”

I opened the bottom desk drawer and took out a bottle of Murphy’s Irish Whiskey and two water tumblers. Most times I just drank from the neck of the bottle sparingly, but I figured senior litigators didn’t do that. I set the tumblers on the desk, uncapped the bottle, and poured a couple of inches into each glass. Then I moved one to the edge of the desk so she could reach it.

“No client?” Liz said, after sipping a little whiskey.

“Ever hopeful,” I said, sipping a swallow of mine.

“Your ship has come in, sailor,” Liz said. “I’ve got a job for you.”

“Yeah? What’s the case?”

Liz took a clipping from the Los Angeles Times from her purse and slid it across the desk to me. The headline read: “Road Worker in Critical Condition After Hit and Run.”

“What do you want me to do about this?”

“I want you to find out who was responsible for that man’s injuries.”

“You know him? Client of yours?”

“No. We’ll start with a week’s retainer plus expenses, and we’ll review your progress after that.”

“I’ll save you some money. Go to the traffic division at the LAPD West Bureau. They will have an ongoing investigation and more to work with than I would.”

“Not in this case. You’re going to have a lead they don’t have.”

Liz stood, picked up the bottle of Murphy’s, and poured more into her glass. Then she sat down and sipped a little.

“Malone, there is a possibility the car that struck that road worker was driven by me.”