Dangerous Women

“You could call me Josephine,” the woman said. “But I wouldn’t like it very much. Even when my mother used to use the name I’d cringe. Most of the people I talk to just call me Joey. It makes it easier for everyone that way.”

“I knew a nun named Josephine once,” the man said. “She didn’t seem to like the name much either. So, Joey it is.”

“And whose heart is it that’s about to be opened up to Joey?” the woman asked, more a smirk than a smile crossing her lips, bourbon glass held close to her mouth.

“I’m Frank,” the man said. “Same name as my father and grandfather. My family liked to keep things simple.”

“So do you, based on what I’ve heard so far,” Joey said.

“Pretty much,” Frank said. “There usually isn’t any kind of a payoff when you add in complications.”

“That’s not always easy to arrange,” Joey said. “Sometimes complications just seem to happen.”

“All the more reason not to toss our own into the mix,” Frank said. “There’s always somebody somewhere eager to make something simple hard. It’s what they live for and it’s what I do my best to avoid.”

“In my line of work we call them defense attorneys and judges,” Joey said.

“Is that what you do in L.A. when you’re not at the beach or hanging around the house with the cats?” Frank asked. “Practice law?”

“I don’t need to practice it all that much,” Joey said. “I pretty much have cornered all I need to know.”

“Which means you’re good,” he said.

“Which means I’m very good,” Joey said.

“Which is bad news for the bad guys, I guess,” Frank said, downing the last row of suds from his beer.

“Not if they cover their tracks,” Joey said, her voice calm and matter-of-fact. “But most of them don’t, which is how I get to meet them in the first place. Unless they commit the perfect crime, the absolute perfect crime, they’ll get to stare at me talking about them in a courtroom.”

“You ever see one?” Frank asked. “A perfect crime?”

“I’ve heard about a few,” Joey said. She took a long drink of her bourbon, brushing the last drop off her lower lip with her tongue, and took a slow and quiet deep breath. “But I’ve seen only one.”

“Was it one of yours?”

Joey shook her head. “I was still in law school,” she said.

“My first year in. A young girl was found dead in her bedroom. Her apartment was on the second floor of a five-story walk-up. No break-in, not from the front door or from any of the windows. Nothing stolen, nothing missing, no prints, no DNA, no bullet casings. Just a dead girl and three bullets.”

“And you think that’s what made it perfect?” Frank asked, sitting up and leaning closer toward Joey. “You don’t need to be a genius to know not to leave behind any prints, DNA or casings. Anybody who watches too many cop shows or reads too many legal thrillers can pick that up.”

“You’re right,” Joey said. “What made it perfect was that he was never caught.”

“Cops give a case as little or as much time as they think a case deserves,” Frank said. “They’re like car salesmen. They’re not looking to sell every car on the lot, just as many as allows them to keep their job.”

“Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought,” Joey said.

“Not really,” Frank said. “I’m just one of those people who watches too many cop shows and reads too many legal thrillers.”

“I managed to get ahold of her case file,” Joey said. “The cops did a pretty thorough job but they didn’t have much to work with. The murder happened in the middle of the day, when most of the other tenants were out, either at work, at school, in a gym or shopping. She hadn’t been living in the apartment very long, so didn’t have many friends in the building.”

“How’d he get in?” Frank asked. “Or I should ask, how do they think he got in?”

“You don’t have to break in to get in,” Joey said. “She might have known him, which I doubt. She might have let him in because he forced her to, but I don’t think that’s the case, either.”

“And what does the Sherlock Holmes of Los Angeles think happened?” Frank asked, his smile colder now, his eyes locked onto Joey’s face.

“I think he knew her routine,” Joey said. “What time she woke up. What time she went for her run and how long she ran. What her class schedule was and which buildings they were in. He studied her. He made it a point to get to know her, without ever having to meet her.”

“If he did all that, he must have had a reason,” Frank said. “Or been given one by somebody else.”

“Reasons are always simple enough to find,” Joey said. “Once you figure out the best place to look.”

“And what did you get?” Frank asked. “Once you figured out where to look?”

“That somebody paid money to have her killed,” Joey said, her fingers stroking at the sides of her water glass.

“If you dug deep enough to know that, then you know why he did it,” Frank said. “What’d you find, personal or business?”

Joey finished her water and slid the empty glass toward Frank. “I’m always thirsty to begin with,” she said. “Talking makes me even more so. You want another go-around? It’s my treat.”

“You’re the one telling the story,” he said, standing and turning toward the bar. “I’ll supply the refreshments.”

She watched him lean on the wood bar and wait while the bartender reached down for a fresh beer and then filled two empty glasses, one with bourbon and the other with ice and water. “She likes lemon in her water,” she heard Frank say.

“And I’d like to get the hell home,” the bartender said, dropping three lemon twists into the water glass. “This is last call. You want more than what I just gave you, order it now. I close up in twenty minutes.”

“What’s your rush?” Frank asked. “No plane is go

“But my car is,” the bartender said. “In twenty minutes.”

Frank rested the glasses on the table. “Used to be a bartender was better than a shrink,” he said. “Cared more or at least listened as if he did. I guess we found one that missed that part of bartending class.”

“Maybe he’s one of the lucky ones,” Joey said. “Maybe he’s got somebody somewhere waiting and worried.”

Frank turned to look at the bartender, cradling the beer in both hands. “I don’t think so,” he said. “My guess is you and me are as close to company as he’s go

“Some people learn to live without company,” Joey said. “Or family. Like you.”

“It does help keep it all simple,” Frank said, looking back at her, resting the beer on the edge of the table. “Things can get complicated real fast, pretty much for no reason, the second you let other people cross your radar.”

“It doesn’t bother you living the way you do?” Joey asked.

“I don’t know,” Frank said. “How is it you think I live?”

“You travel from city to city and from job to job,” Joey said with an air of confidence. “The work pays pretty well, judging by the clothes you’re wearing and the first-class ticket in your shirt pocket.”

“If you’re going to bother to put in the time on anything,” Frank said, “make sure it at least pays you for the trouble.”

“But yours is not a job for anyone,” Joey said. “At least that’s my guess.”

“Few are,” Frank said.

“But it must have its rewards,” Joey said. “All good jobs do.”

“What are yours?” Frank asked. “What is it about being a lawyer that makes you want to leave your bed in the morning?”

“That I can make it stop,” Joey said. “If only just for a lucky lew.

“Make what stop?”

“The evil at the other end of the table,” Joey said. “And the pain felt by the i

“Putting a guy in a cell makes them feel all better?” Frank asked.