Beneath the Palisade Page 2

  “It’s nothing bad, Straight Cat,” Ian said, patting Spencer on the shoulder to reassure him they were on the level. “Andy and I think you should be the team captain this season. I know you’ll have the support if you throw your hat into the ring. Dude, before you say no, consider another entire season of having to listen to Snotty Scotty.”

  “Oh man, I don’t know. Allison, what do you think?”

  Ian held his breath. Spencer wouldn’t dream of making this decision without consulting his wife.

  “I’m Switzerland, honey. I’m not getting involved in this one. Besides, captain or not, I’ll still lose you two nights a week.”

  “Dude, I had no idea your wife was so bitter about baseball,” Andy whispered, with no intention of keeping his comment a secret.

  “Careful, you never want to come between a bitch and her man.” Allison showed her claws.

  “I know that’s the truth.” Andy batted away a French-manicured claw.

  “Come on, dude,” Ian pleaded. “Andy and I will help you with the paperwork and the organizing. We can’t go another season of ball with Snotty Scotty bitching at us. Free blow jobs for a year… huh… huh? Whattaya say?”

  “Hey, I like that offer,” Allison said with an exaggerated sigh of relief. “My jaw gets really tired, and if push comes to shove, I’d have to admit it’s not my favorite thing in the world.”

  “Thanks for sharing that little tidbit, honey.” The forlorn look on Spencer’s face sent everyone into hysterics. “Listen up, you two… I’ll do it.”

  “Yes!” Andy shouted.

  “I’ll do it because I can’t listen to Snotty Scotty for another season either. But the blow job offer—thanks but no thanks. Neither of your lips are getting anywhere close to Elvis, got it?” Spencer took a step behind Allison for protection.

  “Got it!” Ian and Andy cheered, bumping knuckles.

  “My jaw gets tired too.” Andy looked over to Allison.

  “Not mine,” Ian said proudly. “I could go all night.”

  “On that note—” Spencer chugged down the last of his beer. “—time to hit the road, my dear. We have twenty minutes to get home before blow job time. You can limber up in the car.”

  HARPER stared down at his notes. He’d spent the better part of the evening reviewing the law surrounding the court order freezing all of Jasper’s assets. Specifically, he needed to become very familiar with the role of the court-appointed receiver in order to head off any potential violations Phyllis might be entertaining.

  Maybe I should just cut off my dick. It would be so much easier than baby-sitting Phyllis.

  Phyllis was a nutjob. And because he’d agreed to it, she was his nutjob. Lately she’d been showing up at the firm unannounced, demanding either Arthur or Duncan—or both—detail for her how she was going to maintain the lavish lifestyle that obviously meant more to her than her husband, Jasper. Phyllis had good reason to be concerned. No matter what he did to try and prevent it, she would likely lose every penny she’d ever set an eye on and millions of dollars’ worth of possessions, including homes, jewelry, and most damaging, her exalted position as one of the grand dames in the city’s cutthroat society game. From champagne to the food pantry. He was unable to muster up even the smallest amount of compassion for Phyllis.

  You’re a bitch, and you deserve what you have coming. Oh God, what time is it?

  Looking down at his watch, he was surprised to see it was already past one in the morning. He’d been at this long enough. Hungry, he walked into the kitchen and poured out a bowl of cereal. After sprinkling it with sugar and adding milk, he headed into the living room, snapped on the television, and sat on the sofa. As he was about to enjoy his first bite, his cell phone rang.

  Who could be calling me at this hour?

  Setting his bowl down, he sprinted into the dining room.

  “Harper Callahan.”

  “This is Phyllis Flynn.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me. How scary is this?

  He leaned on the dining room table, more than a little freaked out at Phyllis’s timing.

  This woman has to be whacked. How did she get my cell phone number? Oh, that’s an easy one. Arthur. Of course, you prick.

  “Phyllis, it’s very late. Is everything okay?”

  “Of course it’s not okay. Do you honestly think I’d go around calling people at one in the morning if life was okay?”

  The bitch has a point.

  “No… no… of course not. What can I do for you?”

  “You can make goddamn sure I stay in this house. That’s what you can do for me.”

  He wasn’t sure how to respond. Hadn’t Arthur and Duncan set some expectations for her? Did she honestly believe there was a chance of that happening?

  “Phyllis… of course… I’ll do the best job I can for you. Please believe that.”

  “Don’t think I don’t know what Arthur and Duncan are doing. I’m not stupid, you know.”

  “Excuse me? I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

  It was true. He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about.

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Exactly. You’re a pup. My future is in the hands of a goddamned kid. You don’t think there’s anything about that upsetting to me?”

  “Phyllis, please be assured—”

  “It’s Mrs. Flynn to you, and don’t you ever forget it.”

  Oh God. I don’t think I can do this. I don’t think I can—

  “You there?”

  “I’m here… Mrs. Flynn.”

  “Know one thing, you… you little bastard. If I end up losing this house, you’re going to have to answer to me. Trust me, you don’t ever want to find yourself in that position.”

  “Mrs. Flynn, are you threatening me?”

  He had had enough. There was a difference between finessing a difficult client and dealing with a wing nut. Phyllis Flynn was out of control. If he got anything through to her tonight, it had to be that he was not, and never would be, frightened of or threatened by her.

  She’ll be cleaning toilets this time next year, if she’s lucky.

  “I keep my house and my bank account, Mr. Callahan. That’s the only option you’d better be entertaining. Sleep well. I’m sure you’re busy.”

  Click.

  “Good night, Phyllis.”

  Well, that was two tons of fun.

  He padded into the living room a wreck. His head was pounding. He gulped down a spoonful of cereal. It was mushy. He couldn’t eat mushy cereal. Returning the dish to the kitchen, he dumped it into the sink and ran the disposal. Phyllis Flynn had robbed him of his appetite. And despite her gracious blessing of sleep, he knew right now it would be impossible. Pouring a glass of milk, he headed back to the sofa. Why bother with the bed at this point?

  He was ready to take one for the firm, but this Phyllis crap was inexcusable. Partnership or not, he was going to have some words with Arthur and Duncan when he got to the office. Glancing at his watch, he wiped the perspiration off his forehead and realized he was due at the firm for a meeting in six hours. Studying during law school had taught him not only the fundamentals of being a lawyer, but how to function on little to no sleep—a valuable component to being a successful lawyer curiously absent from the curriculum.

  Are you looking for sexy single guys and girls like these? Pick up the phone and call the number on the screen. Real single women and men waiting to speak to you, so what are you waiting for?

  Harper stared at the television in despair. This piece of crap ad was directed at losers like him. This isn’t working out so good, is it, Harp? Alone and tired, he couldn’t escape the hopelessness of it all. Watching this deplorable commercial made him sink into the depths of depression.

  It's live, one on one, and discrrrrreeeeet! So what are ya waiting for? Pick up the phone and call—now!

  Harper downed his milk and laid his head on the sofa pillow. Ther
e wasn’t much about his life right now he liked. Socially, he was dead. Friends he’d made in law school had long since given up on him. You can’t continually ignore invitations and expect people to keep including you. For the last several years, the firm had been his friend. What a fucking mistake I’ve made. A feeling of emptiness nagged him as he stretched his long legs over the arm of the sofa. Chancing a glance back to the television, he watched a handsome dude push a cart down a pathway lined with shrubs.

  A landscaping commercial. Really? At this hour? Damn! There’s another thing that’s fallen through the cracks since I got chained to the Flynn case—my crappy yard. I can’t go through another summer with a crappy backyard.

  He had lived in his house for three years. It had taken him two years for him to come up with an idea for the small inner-city yard that he liked. He knew he wanted a water feature. The bigger the better. He wanted a nice grilling area, and plants. Plants that looked great all the time with little to no effort.

  You’ve just discovered your reward for having to deal with Phyllis. Do the backyard.

  If he was going to start entertaining people—well, dating, if he was honest with himself, he wanted a nice yard to bring someone back to.

  “… here at Burke Landscaping, we treat each project, each yard as if it were our own. Burke Landscaping—Professionals who care!”

  Cute butt. Ah, don’t kid yourself, Harp. He’s probably some model who hasn’t seen a spade in his life.

  Still, all it took was a phone call to get the ball in motion. Harper got up from the couch and went back to the dining room. Packing up for the office, he scribbled “Burke Landscaping” on his notepad and went back to the couch for a few hours of sleep.

  Chapter 2

  “… SO IF you could bring in two dozen of those globe yews from Fredrickson’s, that should just about do it for the Highland Park job.”

  Ian, seated in Andy’s cluttered back office, looked over his list. He had just completed the week’s “product review.” He loved to call it product review because it sounded important. It had become a Monday morning ritual for the two friends.

  “Just a second,” Andy grumbled, annoyed by something he spotted through the one-way mirror he’d recently had installed. A self-proclaimed control freak, Andy needed a way to monitor what was going on in the front of the store while he sat in the cramped little office doing paperwork.

  Ian glanced over his shoulder and followed Andy out of the office into an adjacent break room.

  “Emmett, what the hell are you doing?” Andy scolded. “There’s a woman standing by the counter waiting patiently for someone to help her. If I’m not mistaken, that someone she’s waiting for would be you. So get off the frickin’ phone and get your butt out there. Pronto!”

  “Sorry, Andy! I’m on my way,” a mousy voice replied. “Trevor, I have to run. Oh… I love you way, way more. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”

  “No he won’t, Trevor!” Andy bellowed. “He’ll be dropping by because he doesn’t have a frickin’ job any longer.” Andy plopped down in his desk chair. “Dammit! Combine young love with lazy and you’ve got yourself a whole pile of trouble. Sorry, Ian, where were we? Oh… right, the globe yews. Twenty-four, did you say?”

  “Yep. And that… should do it. Want me to pick you up for practice?” Ian asked.

  “Sure. Speaking of, Straight Cat called me this morning in a tizzy. He’s having second thoughts about being captain.”

  “I knew that was going to happen.” He thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll call and offer to pick him up too. We can work him over on the way to the field. He’ll do it. Spencer has his drama requirements like anyone—”

  Ian was interrupted by Lady Gaga blaring from his pocket. “Hang on, this is probably him.” He spoke into the phone. “Burke Landscaping, this is Ian.” He and Andy locked eyes as he listened to the caller.

  “Well, the best thing would be for me to come over and take a look. We can discuss your ideas, and I can throw out some figures. Ballpark it, you know.” Ian winked at Andy and then covered the phone and mouthed with excitement, “It’s a new client.”

  “Ask him how they found you?”

  “Huh?” He didn’t have a clue what Andy was talking about.

  “Are they calling you because they saw your television spot? Hello!” Andy shook his head and rolled his eyes in frustration.

  “I need a piece of paper… and a pen. Hurry,” Ian hissed out the side of his mouth while he dashed around the desk.

  “Here,” Andy said, producing both. “Ask them!”

  “Yes, 5204 Benton. I know right where it is.” He scribbled down the address. “Well, how about later this evening? I have baseball practice. How about seven thirty? There should still be enough light to get a good look around.”

  Ian nodded while he listened. “Great! Thanks so much.” He was interrupted by a sharp punch to his shoulder.

  “Oh, if you don’t mind, may I ask how you found me?” He looked over to Andy, crossed his eyes, and then wagged his tongue in hopes of getting his friend to lighten up.

  “Thanks. Thanks, the commercial is new. The television,” he whispered over to Andy, jumping up and down.

  “Right! See you tonight.” He stared at his phone. “Incredible! He caught the commercial last night.”

  “I would never have guessed. Hey, what did I tell you? And you didn’t think this was going to work.” Andy was never shy about taking credit where credit was due.

  Up until producing the commercial, all of his jobs had come through Andy. Customers would come into the garden center looking for product and oftentimes lament they didn’t have the time or the knowhow to tackle a landscaping project. At that point Andy would suggest Ian, and they’d be set. It was a good working relationship, but unfortunately it didn’t happen enough. It appeared the commercial was going to be his solution to that.

  Bring it on!

  “ONE in the morning?” Duncan appeared surprised. He walked over and poured a glass of water from a pitcher placed by his thoughtful secretary Gladys prior to the beginning of their meeting.

  “And not only was it one in the morning, Duncan.” Harper followed the partner around the table to make sure he emphasized that Phyllis Flynn calling him wasn’t part of the “under the bus” deal he’d agreed to. “She threatened me. Her tone was threatening.”

  “Phyllis is a pushy old broad, and she’s probably crazy on some level,” Duncan offered, sitting down at the head of the long conference table, the leather chair conforming to his huge, familiar ass like they were the best of friends. “But she’s harmless. I’ve known her for decades. Harp, she’s losing her money machine. Can you imagine? She’s desperate. For her sake, I hope something’s been stashed away so she doesn’t end up selling magazine subscriptions over the phone. Lord knows she hasn’t an ounce of talent or skill to do anything else. Prison might be her best bet.” Duncan sipped his water. “You’re going to charm the knickers right off her, Harp. She’s not going to know what hit her.”

  Duncan, you have no idea how much I want to kick your patronizing, fat ass.

  “I’ve got a lot to think about here, Duncan. I’m not complaining about the work involved with the case. That I can handle. I can’t handle some lunatic wife calling me at all hours and treating me like crap.”

  “Harp, honestly, is Phyllis really that difficult?”

  “Duncan….” Harper sat in the chair next to him. The leather was neither familiar nor welcoming. “Glad to know I can contribute, but this bitch is out of control.”

  “If she continues this bothersome behavior, you and I will work together to get her in line.”

  This wasn’t the response he’d been hoping for. After all, he was doing them a favor by agreeing to baby-sit this wretched woman, so the least Duncan could do was bat her back down. “I’m going to hold you to that, Duncan.”

  “You have my word. Now shall we get on with the meeting?”

&nbs
p; Why don’t I just walk out the door and never look back. I mean, really, what do I have to lose?

  Understanding their Phyllis discussion had come to an end, he got up and opened the door. Gladys Crumley, Duncan’s secretary, and Brent Burns, Harper’s assistant, were waiting outside for the meeting to start. They shuffled in and took their seats.

  “Okay! Thirteen days and counting,” Duncan proclaimed, clapping his hands together. “Harper, why don’t you bring us up to date.”

  Sure! I’ll call you at the country club if we need your help.

  Reading off his notes, he went over the events and loose ends needing attention before Jasper’s sentencing. Jasper had been convicted on one count of tax evasion and one count of mail fraud. Combined, he was facing up to twenty-five years in prison. During plea negotiations, Jasper had agreed to help the government locate and return assets to the victims. Had he refused to cooperate, the sentencing guidelines would have called for a sentence of between twenty-seven and thirty-three years. Having already celebrated his seventy-third birthday in the clink, there was no doubt in anyone’s mind he would spend the rest of his life incarcerated. Less fascinating but more problematic to the partners as they had begun to prepare Jasper’s appeal dangled his ruthless and conniving wife, Phyllis.

  “Brent, while Gladys will be helping Duncan and Arthur put together an appeal, unfortunately—” He glanced over to Duncan to make sure it was fully understood. He was doing him and Arthur a hell of a favor by taking Phyllis off of their hands. “—you and I will be focusing on Phyllis Flynn. However, I’ll be representing Jasper at the sentencing, and I’d like you to be there with me in case anything unexpected comes up.”

  “Sure thing, Harper.” Brent was unable to hide his enthusiasm at the prospect of having a front row seat to one of the most anticipated legal events the area had seen in a long time.

  Harper enjoyed working with Brent. His assistant was bright and efficient. When possible, he did whatever he could to make Brent’s job more meaningful and interesting.

  “Duncan, I know you and Arthur will be making periodic visits to hold Jasper’s hand. As part of my strategy to manage Phyllis, I might use Jasper as an instrument of communication back to his wife. At the very least, it will show him we are doing what we can for her. So let’s keep each other abreast of our visitation plans.”