I arrived at my office in the late morning. Thankfully there was no line outside my door. It looked quiet.
I drove around the block and then came through the alley in the back. After I parked the car and got out, I noticed that the dumpster was full.
The dumpster was never full.
I walked a little closer.
There were three trash bags piled next to it, a table with a broken leg, and a lamp without a shade. Inside, the dumpster was filled with other pieces of old, broken office furniture.
Every piece piled in the dumpster was mine.
With the discarded lamp in hand, I opened the office door. “Emma.” I didn’t wait for a greeting. “Want to explain what the—” My voice fell away.
A family sat in the front waiting area, staring at me. They sat on a new brown leather couch. The mother was flipping through a magazine, and the kids were in mid-squirm. “Good morning,” I said to them as my eyes scanned the completely redecorated room. The office was beautiful, clean, and bright.
I held my finger up in the air. “I need a moment to talk with my paralegal.” My eyes locked on Emma Tadic, sitting at a new oak desk with brass trim. “Perhaps you and I could talk in private?”
I walked back toward my office, and Emma followed.
She shut the door behind her as I walked around my new desk and sat down in a high-backed, leather chair. “Ms. Tadic . . .” I closed my eyes, wondering what I had gotten myself into.
Not knowing where to begin, I tried to keep it simple.
“I don’t believe that I asked you to throw all my furniture into the garbage, true?”
“No.” Emma didn’t seem to care, nor was she offering to explain. She looked at me like she had better things to do.
So I tried a different approach. “The office looks very nice. This is all beautiful, but I can’t afford any of it. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I’m not that kind of a lawyer. I do street law. I work for the public defender. I have trouble making a small lease payment every month.”
“No worries.” She smiled. “I got this from my uncle. He runs a furniture store down on Market and Beaumont. You can pay him later.”
“But I don’t have the money now, and I don’t think I’ll have the money later, either.”
Emma dismissed my concerns. “Then he’ll take it back when he needs it.”
“But I don’t feel right about—”
“Nonsense, he knows what you did for my cousin Nikolas. He knows what you do for me.” She tilted her head to the side. “And, of course, he knows your family. It’s always good to have friends in high places, he says.”
“I understand, but all this stuff is a waste.” I ran my hand along the smooth oak desktop. “I don’t need it, and my clients don’t care.”
“Yes, you do need it, and your clients definitely care.” Emma rolled her eyes at my na?veté. “People buy the sizzle, not the steak. You know that. You don’t want to admit it, but it’s true. Plus”—she put her hands on her hips—“I do not work in a dump. Are we now done?”
I didn’t have the energy to fight her. “I guess so.”
“Good.” Emma nodded. “I have a new client you need to meet this afternoon. Retainer is paid, but you need to go over the agreement with him and get it signed. First appearance tomorrow, suburban guy with a simple DWI. Just don’t plead him right away. Keep him on the hook a little, let him sweat it out. He’ll be more appreciative of your work if you fight a little, maybe challenge the traffic stop.”
If she ever allowed my practice a quiet moment, I needed to ask Emma where she’d learned everything she knew about retainer agreements, client management, and running a law practice. “Thanks,” I said as she stepped forward and handed me the file with the name of the new client printed neatly on the front. “You also need to meet with that family out in the waiting area right now and get them out of here. The kids are driving me crazy, and you have two others in about ten minutes.”
I nodded, trying to process all the information. It had been a long time since I was part of a functioning law office, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. “Anything else?”
“You do civil?”
Thinking back to my days as a young lawyer and husband, before it all fell apart, I said, “I used to do civil.”
“Good.” She nodded. “I told them, yes. They want you to work on a real estate deal for some affordable housing near the convention center. Part legal and part political.”
I held out my palms, trying to slow her down. “I’m not sure about—”
“I say ten-thousand-dollar retainer, up front. You charge three hundred fifty dollars an hour and one hundred fifty dollars an hour for paralegal—that’s me. They say no problem.”
The money stopped me cold. I ran the calculations in my head. Even if it was a simple deal, I’d make more on that single file than I did working for the public defender in three months.
The room was silent.
Emma waited for me to say something, but I didn’t. So she pushed forward. “Any questions?” She tilted her head, setting the big hoop earring on one side swaying back and forth.
Resigned, I quietly told her that I had nothing more.
Emma offered an understanding smile and nod. Then she turned and opened the door.
“Ms. Tadic,” I said before she left. “How?”
She glanced back, smiling. “I answered the phone.” Then she turned back and walked into the reception area. Before the door closed, she said, “Being on the front page of the newspaper also doesn’t hurt.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
By the third family interview, I was exhausted. Talking to people was my job, but these were more confessionals than anything else.
I heard about abusive boyfriends, drug use, working two jobs, evictions, intermittent homelessness, and couch-crashing. It was the harshness of living on the edge.
The disappearances in the first two interviews followed a progression. The same pattern as Tanisha’s brother, Devon Walker.
When the boys hit puberty, their attendance at school worsened. They began hanging around with other boys who’d spend their days smoking marijuana, committing petty crimes, and hustling.
They joined a gang, but not in the way that a person joins the Rotary Club or the Masons. It wasn’t even as formal as jumping into the Bloods or Crips. These gangs were more like loose affiliations, with names that teenage boys might think are cool, but actually revealed that they were still kids: Egan’s Rats, Shaw Boys, Money Over Bitches (MOB), Saint Louis Crime Family, Bottoms Gang, Black Mafia.
They’d disappear for a weekend or even a week, dropping in for food or money or just to hide. The crimes got increasingly serious. Probation officers and cops became regular fixtures in their lives.
And then, one day they were gone.