9

 

 

I woke up, and my cell phone was ringing. I realized I’d incorporated the sound into my dream, but somehow that didn’t make me feel any better.

The sheets were wrapped around my legs, but I kicked free and reached for the phone. I expected it to be Clell, so I was surprised when I saw the small screen.

Joel Harrity, it read.

I hesitated. Harrity was one of River City’s premier defense attorneys, and he’d helped me out on more than one occasion. I don’t know if I liked the guy, but I respected him. Had he already heard about my run in at the bar last night?

It was possible. He had his ear to the ground, at least in some circles. But I hadn’t been arrested, so he wouldn’t have seen it on any first appearance sheets that are public record. And besides that, it was Saturday.

I answered the phone. “Hello?”

Just speaking made my mouth and jaw hurt, and I winced.

“It’s Joel Harrity calling,” the voice on the phone said. Only it didn’t sound like Harrity. It sounded like someone doing a decent but not entirely passable imitation of him.

I cleared my throat. That made my head hurt as bad as talking. “What’s up?” I managed.

“Can you come to my office? I have something I need to discuss with you.”

I hesitated. My head was pounding, my body was stiff, and I was still sweat-soaked from another Amy Dugger dream. So the last thing I wanted to do was get dressed and go visit a lawyer.

I didn’t know why he called me, but I knew I’d go without questioning him further. Like I said, the man had helped me on more than one occasion, and in a world with few true friends, sometimes you just do what you’re asked. That applies even if you’re not sure someone is technically a friend or not.

Maybe more so.

“I’ll be right there,” I croaked.

I got out of bed and stumbled around my small apartment, looking for something to wear. My jeans from last night were in a crumpled pile next to the bed, but I found some fresh ones on top of the dresser. When I looked in the mirror, my own dark eye sockets stared back at me. The two days’ worth of stubble might be okay in this day and age, but the bruising on my face and still swollen lip told a story I didn’t really want to share.

The pile of clothes by the closet rendered a reasonably clean shirt. I slipped it on and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on my boots. Crusty puke from last night coated the edge of one of them. I used a damp towel to clean it off.

Before I left, I called Clell to push back our breakfast. I washed down one of the ibuprofen that Sean gave me with some cold coffee still in yesterday’s pot. Since Clell still had my car, I headed to the bus stop.

I’d go see what Harrity wanted. I doubted I was in any kind of shape to help anyone at all, but that didn’t stop me.