I looked at her baby cheeks, her downturned mouth, and it was as if I knew her. Hell, I could have become her.
I knew girls who had become her, back when I was in foster care. Sometimes I still dreamed that I had fallen off the world with them. I would tip into sleep and find myself walking right off Earth’s secret, jagged edge. I would hurtle past the world turtle, past Joya who tumbled limp and silent, past Candace who reached for me with needy-greedy eyes. Past everything, into an endless nothing. Not even stars.
I could have ended up exactly like this girl in Birdwine’s slides, with her hennaed hair and her cheeks still full of baby fat. I could have spent my days crouched and shivering on my knees for some asshole standing in azaleas, and all at once, going after Bryan Skopes felt personal. I was no longer working only on behalf of Daphne. She was my client, which meant I’d bring my A game, sure—but I wasn’t fond. Daphne was standard trophy wife material. Her main interests were grooming and toning so she could be attractive at cocktail receptions. She was blank and selfish and more than a little boring.
I had no doubt that Daphne had driven past plenty of girls like this magenta-haired creature. They were common enough in Atlanta. This kid was one of a thousand strung-out runaways all over the city, unwilling or unready to be salvaged, getting by in whatever way she could.
I felt certain Daphne had never once thought to buy a girl like this a sandwich or offer a ride to a shelter. But I also knew my client had never taken a kid like this into the bushes, used her like a Kleenex, and then handed her a wad of greasy money. I felt myself shifting from professional advocate to my own self, playing for my own stakes. If I had my way entirely, Skopes would go to prison and learn firsthand how hard life could be on the knees.
It wasn’t feasible, and not only because it was against my client’s interests. This girl he’d used was smoke, already gone. Maybe Birdwine could find her, given time and money, but she wasn’t going to testify or press charges. I knew her kind.
So what I had left was hitting Bryan Skopes hard in the money sack, in his misapplied belief in his own good personhood, and most of all, in his gloating love of power over women. I could make him bend over for Daphne and for me. The very idea made my spine feel longer. I could feel myself growing taller. I ran my tongue over my teeth, hungry for next week’s scheduled depo. How much had Skopes given to that girl? I wished I could see the money clearly. A couple of twenties? A fifty? I didn’t know the going rate, but this I did know: Skopes was going to pay more than he’d ever thought for that one-off in the bushes.
I closed the PowerPoint and forwarded a copy to my partner Nick with a note: Can we get Daphne in here this week? I need to prep her.
I went to PayPal to send Birdwine the full amount of the bill from my own account, instantly, plus a sizable bonus. It would be a paperwork ass-pain to get reimbursed, but I wanted the speed to resonate with him. Usually his invoices had to go through Verona.
In the message box I typed, Thanks for the dirty pictures—better than a box of chocolates, but then I erased it. I barely had him back working for me. It was too soon to try for our old combative-flirty banter. I tried, See why I can’t do without you, Birdwine? but that read too personal. After a moment’s thought, I changed it to See why I can’t do without you, Zachary?
Still too personal; he’d been very clear, in the car. I sent it blank, then started a fresh email with a different case file attached. I typed in, This guy’s discovery is BS. He’s hiding money. My bet? In something artsy-fartsy like sculpture or wine. Find it? Regular rates. I hit send and waited.
Two minutes later, the reply came back: On it.
That was that. Birdwine and I were back in business. Still mostly on his terms, sure, but I was shifting him. We were heading in the right direction.
Even better, in a week—about the same time it would take for Kai’s check to clear—I would meet with Bryan Skopes. He thought that he’d get everything he asked for. Well, maybe so. My mother had named me for Kali, after all. He would get what he was asking for, all right. It would be my pleasure to give it to him.