“You own the building?”
“Yes. I bought it several years ago. It was actually pretty cheap at the time because it was so run-down. But I’ve fixed it up. Last year I replaced a lot of windows and repaired the roof. Now it’s probably in the best shape of the buildings on the block.”
“And you have a roommate?”
Ali smiled. “Yes, his name is Miguel. We’ve lived together for three years now. He’s like my only family in this country.”
“Well, try not to worry, Ali. I’m no expert, but this attorney that you’re going to call, I’m sure he’ll be able to ease your mind.” She then looked at her menu to avoid his eyes.
She wasn’t an expert, and it was possible that the laws had changed in the last six years, but what she knew was disturbing. Seizing property was a great money-maker for police departments and the system was not set up to protect people like Ali. Abby looked at him as he buttered his bread. She could tell he was worried.
“As soon as I get back to the office, I’ll call that attorney, Ted Gottlieb, and advise him that you’ll be calling. And don’t wait to call. It’s important to get someone working on this right away.”
Ali nodded at her instructions.
“Oh,” Ali added, “there’s something else I should tell you. The same officers who appeared yesterday with the notice were in my store on Tuesday also, asking about you.”
“What?”
“They had a picture of you. Looked like an ID card of some sort?”
“Really? What did you say?”
“Actually, I lied. I got nervous because I realized that you might have committed a crime, which would mean that I had helped you escape somehow.”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t commit a crime. But I did stumble upon a crime scene. And I ran away because I was scared.” Her mind instantly returned to the dead woman’s face. “The police must have found my purse—that would actually be a relief. So I guess there’s no reason to worry. I’ve already given a statement about everything I saw.”
“Were you at Reggie’s?”
“How did you know?”
“Well, word in the neighborhood the next day was that police pulled a dead prostitute and drugs out of there.”
“Yes. I found her. I went in there looking for a phone but before I could call for help this gang came in and I ran.” Abby took a sip of tea and added sarcastically, “What a great night.”
Ali sat back and smiled. “Well, I feel like it was a great night anyway. I met this lovely woman who, as it turns out, may be my guardian angel.”
“Thank you. I think I was pretty lucky to have met you too.”
WALKING
back to her office, Abby was struck by Ali’s kindness, her good fortune in meeting him, and the bizarre string of events that led to their meeting. She felt a sudden fear for Ali. He felt like a friend. More than a friend, really. Now he was in big trouble. She knew well enough that he could actually lose his building over the drug bust. She began to recount all those cases she researched years ago. The details were still in her mind: The woman who lost her car because her husband solicited a prostitute while driving it. The parents who lost their home because their son secretly grew some pot on the property. The yacht company that lost one of its boats because a single joint had been found on board after a renter had used the boat. There were countless tales of innocent owners losing property. Antiquated laws, re-energized in the seventies to combat the “war on drugs” that only gained momentum as law enforcement realized the power and revenue created in taking property. It had infuriated and baffled her back in law school when she was simply focused on writing a good law review article. Now, as she came face-to-face with a potential victim, she just felt scared for him. Her cell phone rang and she stopped in mid-stride to answer.
“Ms. Donovan?”
“Yes?”
“This is Officer Reilly. I got your number from Officer Tunney out of the twenty-third district.”
“Oh, yes.”
“He sent me the police report regarding Monday night. We appreciate your cooperation and we’d like to ask you some more questions. Also, I believe we have your purse.”
So this was the same officer who served notice on Ali.
“Oh sure. And I’m so relieved about my purse. Does that mean you arrested the men who took it?”
“We found the purse at the scene, Ms. Donovan. There was no one there.”
Something about his tone put her off.
“I don’t see any cash in here, but otherwise, I’m guessing it’s all in order. Wallet, keys, ID. Can you come to the station?”
“Of course, but can I come tomorrow? I’ve got a full day and a required work function at five.”
“Well, we do have your statement, so I suppose we could wait until tomorrow.”
“Thanks so much. And where is the station?”
“Pulaski and Division.”
“I’m a little nervous to come to that area. Could we meet somewhere else?”
“We’d really like you to view some mug shots and see if you could identify anyone you might have seen that night.”
“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”
“Why don’t I pick you up at your office and bring you in? No reason to feel nervous when you have a police escort.”
“Yes, but of course I’ll feel like a criminal,” she added lightly, envisioning herself getting into the back of a police car in front of her office.
“Well, Ms. Donovan, there has been a crime. We need your cooperation.”
“Of course.”
“Why don’t I come to your office tomorrow at noon and bring you in? I’ll give you a lift back to the office afterward.”
“Okay, that would be great.” She wondered if that was standard procedure.
After lunch, Abby stared at the Dalcon Laboratories interrogatories for about two hours. She read the inquiries, drafted responses, stared at the computer screen, lost her thought, and tried again. It happened over and over. She decided to put it off and turn to her correspondence. The same thing kept happening. Her mind was wandering. She couldn’t get Ali and his new problems out of her head. She dialed David at work twice, but hung up both times.
ABBY
was staring out the window when Sarah popped her head into Abby’s office.
“Hey, you ready?” Her lips were a fresh coat of dark purple that matched the burgundy knit sweater clinging to her shape. She looked ready for a night on the town.
“For what?”
“Where is your head these days, girlfriend? We’ve got the associates’ dinner tonight.”
“Oh yes, of course. Is it time to go?”
“Yeah, let’s just freshen you up for the brown-nose fest.”
Abby laughed. She always looked like she’d been rolling around on the ground by the end of the work day. She habitually played with her hair and rubbed her eyes while researching, ruining her make-up. Her hair was now in a loose bun, held up by a pencil.
“Okay.” She grabbed her purse and pulled a small mirror out of the drawer. “Oh, jeez, look at me!”
Sarah came around behind her like a hairdresser and pulled the pencil from her hair, allowing it to fall to her shoulders. “Relax. Just brush those gorgeous auburn locks of yours and here, have some lipstick.” She offered her burgundy color.
“Uh, not so much,” Abby laughed, pushing it away.
“Okay, so maybe it doesn’t go with your hair. Here,” she pulled another from her bag, “a beautiful nude for the natural beauty.”
It was perfect. “Thanks.”
“I heard Peter say he’d be coming.”
“Ugh. Whatever happened to ‘associates only’?” Abby dreaded seeing him. If she ignored him, it would probably be bad, and if she tried to make conversation, it would be terrible.
“Who the hell knows? I’ve seen at least three partners today who plan to attend. The Neils will be tripping over themselves. We should bring a wet nap for their shit-laden noses.”
Abby laughed. They had made Neil a description of all the up-and-coming, hundred-hour-billing, born-to-schmooze go-getters. “Well, if nothing else, free cocktails and a three course meal,” Abby offered as she turned off her computer and grabbed her coat.
Sarah did a final lipstick check. “Damn straight. I’m ready for some good vodka. What do you think, cosmos?”
“No, ma’am.” Abby stuck to white wine and wouldn’t dream of having more than a couple of drinks for fear of letting loose in front of the wrong people. Sarah did not share her burden and always relished getting tipsy and telling people what she really thought—about Republicans, religion, the firm, lawyers. It was entertaining to watch.
They took a cab to Bistro Margot on Wells, where they were ushered upstairs for cocktails. Abby scanned the room for anyone with whom she’d care to catch up. There had once been several associates Abby would have considered friends. When they joined the firm after law school, it was like a group of pledges, all green, starting out together. But as the years had passed, most of her class had left, either for other firms, career changes, or family issues. She and about four others from her class remained. They each worked eighty- to one hundred-hour weeks and, other than the chit-chat at dinner in the cafeteria, kept to themselves. There didn’t seem time for friends anymore. She noticed some younger associates. They were still green and giddy about their jobs. Too cheery. Then there were the Neils and a few quiet lateral hires that kept to themselves. And Sarah. Thank God for Sarah.
Sarah, now at the bar, waved Abby over. When Abby arrived, Sarah handed her a cosmo and cut her off before the protest. “Just drink it,
b-e-otch
!” She was busting. “Okay. I’ve been mature about this long enough. There’s no one here we need to talk to. Tell me what the hell happened on Monday night.”
Abby smiled and acquiesced. “Well, you remember how it was raining on Monday?”
“Yeah?”
“And you know how you can never find a cab when it rains?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, when I gave up on pulling the all-nighter, it was like eleven o’clock. I was so wiped. I’d spent the whole weekend on that damn brief for Peter and I just knew I had to get a few hours of sleep.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“When I didn’t see a cab, I decided to take the L.”
“Okay.”
Abby continued on with all the highlights. Sarah’s jaw dropped and she gasped at the details. Abby realized how crazy and unbelievable it all sounded. She needed to keep it that way. To think of them as characters in a play. That was the only way to keep that woman’s face and those men out of her dreams. She and Sarah toasted to her safety and tried to joke about her saga.
“Hey, who’s that tall drink of water?” Sarah asked. She was pointing to a man talking to some of the younger associates. Thirty-something, tall, maybe six foot two, with wavy dark hair and some funky glasses, or so it seemed from his profile.
“I don’t know.”
“Me likey,” Sarah purred. “Let’s go introduce.”
“Aren’t you the flirtatious one, Miss ‘I’m getting married in a week.’”
“Well, I’m not dead, and besides, I’m only suggesting that we say ‘Hi,’ oh Uptight One.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Abby replied with a smile. She followed Sarah toward the stranger.
Sarah paid no attention to the conversation in full swing in front of her—they were first-years, after all. She tapped the stranger’s shoulder and he turned around.
“Hello there,” Sarah offered. He was even better from the front. His hair was a little long on top, swooped across his forehead, and his funky rectangular-shaped neon-green frames were a great complement to the green eyes. So Sarah’s type. “I’m Sarah Voight, senior associate, Chicago office. This is Abigail Donovan,” she said with a nod toward Abby. “And who might you be?”
The man studied Abby’s face. “Abigail Donovan, Abby?”
“Yes?”
“It’s me. Nate. Jesus, I don’t think I’ve seen you since…,” and then his face darkened as he remembered, “Denny’s funeral.”
The new-found style hadn’t looked familiar, but those green eyes and the dimple on his right cheek—how had she not recognized him?
“Nate!” She grabbed him and hugged hard. He hugged back like he had found a long-lost family member.
“Well, what’s this reunion about?” Sarah asked.
“I’m sorry,” Nate said, pulling out of the embrace and returning to the professional stance. “The name is Nathan Walters. I practically grew up at Abby’s house. Abby’s big brother was my best friend.”
“Was?”
Abby’s gaze stared straight through Nate. She was lost in thought as she muttered, “He died in high school.”
Nate chimed in. “Just before graduation.” He then turned back to Abby and offered a subject change. “Now, are you an attorney? I would never have guessed!”
Abby smiled. She knew his comment was not meant as an insult. “Yeah, I know, but we all have to grow up.”
Sarah joined in. “Are you kidding? She’s the golden girl—definitely one of our best and brightest.”
Abby nudged her friend. “Shut up, Sarah.”
Nate was all smiles. “Really? That’s great, Abby. But what about your music?”
Sarah was obviously confused, but Abby turned her attention back to Nate. She was not up for a trip down memory lane and changed topics.