While Justice Sleeps(19)

“Just one more dance,” giggled Rita, her head lolling on shoulders covered by a ratty fake fur. “The man just wanted one more dance. A last dance.” She lifted her chin and began singing, “Last dance. Last chance, for Rita. Yes, it’s my last chance, for romance, tonight!” The butchered Donna Summer number caught the attention of others disembarking the train. Realizing she had an audience, she shoved away from Avery and gave a quick shimmy. “?’Cause when I’m bad, I’m so, so bad. So let’s dance!”

    “Rita!” Avery reached for her mother, only to have her spin around and bump into a man who clutched at her mother’s satin-covered hip.

“If the lady wants to dance,” he said as he swung her around. Rita giggled again and tossed thin, track-marked arms around his shoulders, as the oversized sleeves bunched around her elbows. Her dance partner wore the uniform of the downtrodden: unwashed jeans, a stained overcoat likely donated to a Salvation Army years after it had gone out of style. A baseball cap shadowed his forehead, but dull brown hair curled against his neck.

Avery hurried toward them. The scent of marijuana was pungent on the man’s tattered clothes, and she clutched at Rita’s brittle shoulder. “Let her go, please.”

He jerked Rita closer, grinding against her. “She said she wants to dance.”

“She’s high. She wants whatever she can dig out of your pocket,” Avery corrected. Rita’s hands had inched toward his pockets, and her eyes glazed, signaling her impending crash from whatever she’d ingested. If her mother passed out before they got aboveground, she’d be screwed. Even a 120-pound woman was hard to carry as deadweight. “Fun’s over. Let my mother go.”

The stoner wrapped his arm more tightly around Rita’s waist, pulled her against him; in response, she tucked her head against his shoulder. “See, she likes me.”

Avery yanked at Rita, and the man used his free hand to shove her away hard. “You can back off, bitch.” Riders sidled away from them along the platform, ignoring the exchange. Even early in the evening, most decided to mind their own business or hope someone else would intervene.

Not wanting a fight or an audience, Avery pleaded quietly, “Rita, come on. We have to go.” She advanced again, her fingers closing around the small knife she carried in her pocket for Rita-rescue duty.

Rita slumped half-conscious against the man, who rudely palmed and squeezed her breast as he leered at Avery and glanced down the platform. “Me and Rita here are going to the corner for some fun. Stay right where you are, and I’ll have her back to you in a few minutes. Come at me again, and I’ll drop you.”

    The threat of rape failed to penetrate Rita’s haze, but it clarified Avery’s choices. Behind her back, the blade popped from its sheath. Hopefully, the Metro cameras would capture her attempts at negotiation as well as the assault to come. “Let her go—now. Last chance.”

“Kiss my ass, bitch.”

Avery took a step forward, the knife at the ready behind her back.

“The young lady asked you to unhand her mother, sir. I would advise you to do so.”

The voice behind Avery made her spine stiffen. Unwilling to believe it, she took another step toward her mom. “Give her to me.”

“Don’t make me call the authorities or force the young woman to demonstrate if she can use the unlawful knife in her hand,” Justice Wynn chided gently. “I might even be compelled to assist her.”

The stoner stared over Avery’s shoulder, then roughly shoved Rita away. “She smells like piss. Take her.”

Avery awkwardly caught her mother as he ran down the platform. With a practiced move, she closed the knife with one hand, holding Rita with the other. She then turned reluctantly toward her rescuer. As she’d guessed, Justice Wynn stood behind her. Brandishing a thick ebony cane that would have caused serious damage to a human body. “Sir.”

He lowered the cane and leaned on it lightly. “Ms. Keene.”

“Thank you.” Wrapping her arm around Rita’s waist, as she still hummed brokenly, Avery said, “I can explain.”

“I don’t recall asking. Good evening.” With that, he turned away and headed up the escalator.

A mortified Avery bundled Rita onto the next train and dropped her off at her latest flop. When summoned to Justice Wynn’s office the next morning, she knocked on the door, prepared to be fired.

“What?”

From the half-open door, she answered, “It’s Avery, sir. You asked to see me.”

“Then don’t hover in the corridor.” He waved her inside with an imperious flick of the wrist. “Do you have the Holley opinion?”

    “Yes, sir. I took the approach you used in Morton.” She entered the room quickly. “Mr. Brewer has the lead on the Hugley Inc. decision. We should have a draft in the morning.” Setting the tabbed stack of notes and rulings on the leather blotter, Avery added, “I’ve also emailed a copy to your account.”

“Fine, fine.” Justice Wynn lifted the folder and thumbed the pages, watching Avery beneath hooded lids. “Ms. Keene, you have worked for me for nearly two years now.”

Recalling their evening encounter, Avery nodded warily. “Yes, sir.”

“You don’t exhibit the typical signs of incompetence that I’m used to seeing.”