Chapter Five

Chapter Five
Celebration Interrupted

It was finally Friday again. And better yet, I was finally able to see my desk again. We’d brought two new attorneys on board, which took a lot of pressure of the rest of us. And unless the new employees had thoroughly snowed both Renee, and me they both should stick around for a while instead of bailing at the first scent of a better paying job. And even better, Philip Magruder had gone up against Nick DiAmato, our former boss, and won. The whole office was going to the Cock to celebrate tonight. Even De Sade was invited. And more strangely, he’d actually accepted.

I was boxing up closed case files to ship back to Records Management, and since my mind was not otherwise engaged, it was replaying events that had happened earlier today.

The happiness of a Friday had been marred a bit. I had come in this morning like I always had, with my usual Grande Mocha Latte from Starbucks. Then Renee saw me. She looked almost like she’d seen a ghost. “Tell me that isn’t the suit you wore to my mother’s funeral.”

I looked down at the navy suit I was wearing. It was the suit. It was even the same blouse that I wore. The only thing different was that I was wearing the heels I'd had dyed to match the suit instead of flats “Okay, it isn’t the suit I wore to the funeral.” I lied.

Renee looked really annoyed. “Mara, I told you to burn that suit. Otherwise, the bad luck associated with the death will continue to follow you.”

I roll my eyes. “Please. It’s just a silly superstition. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

Renee stamps her foot. “It’s not silly!” She replies. “You’re putting yourself in danger, Mara. Promise me that you’ll burn that suit tomorrow.”

There was no way in hell that I would do that. However, I also didn’t want to piss off my best ally in the office either. “Look, I’m sorry. If it’s that important, I’ll burn it. But you’re buying me a replacement.”

Renee smiled finally. “Sure, we can hit Ross and Target tomorrow.” She offered.

Now, thinking back, while my answers seemed to placate Renee, she was still very angry, and gave me the cold shoulder for the rest of the day. She wouldn’t come near me, and whenever I came near her, even to talk, she would walk away. I’d finally had to call her on the phone if I wanted to talk to her, and even then, I was only able to elicit two or three words from her at a time. Damn, the suit thing must be really important to her.

I pick up the phone to call Renee again, then put it back on its cradle. Hell, what was I going to say? I’d already apologized once.

The phone rings, breaking me from my reverie. I pick it up. “Mara Ravenclaw.” I answer.

“Mara, it’s Renee.” Funny, I’d wanted to call her, and here she was calling me. “I’m sorry I got upset at you. I can’t really expect you to understand the importance of my culture’s traditions.”

“It’s okay.” I reply. “I can understand. You’re still getting over your mom’s death. I know how hard that is.” That, unfortunately, was the truth. I then attempt to deftly change the subject. “So, Renee, are you still going to the Cock with the rest of us?”

“The celebration of DiAmato’s crushing defeat? I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” She replies.

“Neither would I.” I reply. “I’m looking forward to it, actually. I’m walking straight over there after work.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Renee offers. “There’s safety in numbers.”

“Sure.” I hang up and get back to marking the box with a black Sharpie marker. I write on it “Return to Records Management – Cases to be Filed.” Then I haul the box into the hall and stack it on top of another box that is marked in a similar manner, headed for the same fate.

I survey my desk. There were only three thick files left on my desk now. They were some of my hardest cases, but they were also my newest. Murder cases. One had an overwhelming amount of evidence against him. Another was mostly a circumstantial case, and the last I could probably plead down to manslaughter, provided the client agreed.

I spotted another thick file sitting on a corner of my desk. I look at the tab. James, Quintel. Another murder case. But this one had been dropped because the witnesses against him had recanted their stories. Meaning they’d changed their mind about what they’d seen. James was a gang banger, so the whole thing stank of witness intimidation. Well, there wasn’t a lot that I could do about it, other than tell the D.A. what they already believed: that the witnesses had been threatened and intimidated into not talking.

Yes, it was true. Once in a while, we actually helped out the other side. But it was rare indeed.

Out of respect to Renee, I take off my suit jacket, revealing the white blouse with its neckline that offered a small hint at my cleavage. If she’s willing to buy me a new suit, I guess I would be willing to part with this one.

A little after five, Renee stops by my desk. She is carrying her black coat, getting ready to put it on. My eyes are drawn momentarily to the strip of black cloth around her left bicep. The black was very noticeable against the red silk of her blouse.

Renee had explained to me that the armband was a sign of mourning, and that the colors of the armbands depended upon what relation you were to the deceased. Strangely though, I’d seen Renee’s father a week ago when he came to visit Renee at work, and he hadn’t been wearing one. When I asked Renee about this, she told me that in her culture, husbands were not required to mourn the loss of their wives. I guess I will probably never understand the Chinese culture no matter how much I study it.

“So are you ready to go?” Renee asks.

I get up and start to put on my coat. I take my purse, but leave my briefcase. I can come and get it tomorrow morning, since I don’t live far from the office, and for once, I’m caught up on my paperwork. “I sure am.” Renee puts on her coat, covering the armband. We walk out of the building together, wishing the security guard a nice weekend.

When we get to the Black Cock, the place is pretty packed. But that’s not real unusual on a Friday night. The Cock usually changes the jukebox songs to 80’s favorites, and people come to dance. Friday is the time when college students, office workers and downtown residents all converge on the local bars for free food, dollar beers and maybe even a good lay. As for me, I just came for the free food and the company of my coworkers.

Luckily for Renee, and me a couple of our coworkers had headed out early and snagged a table for us already. We remove our coats in unison and set them on the back of the chairs we picked, and head for the buffet line.

While I wait my turn, I scan the room. It was the usual Friday mix of coeds and coworkers. Though there was one couple playing pool that didn’t really seem to belong. The woman was wearing a black leather halter-top that showed off both her cleavage and her flat stomach as she attempted her shots. Her provocative look was completed with a short black skirt and shiny leather boots that went up past her knees. Her companion, a man with long blonde hair, he looked oddly familiar. Like I’d seen him before. Did I know him? I don’t recall seeing him in the bar until tonight. Maybe I’ve seen him around the neighborhood. Though I can’t say I’ve seen a lot of the residents around here wearing leather.

The pair seemed to be keeping their distance from each other. Perhaps they were not lovers then. While the woman is taking another shot, the man hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his black jeans and ambles over to her. He gets close to the woman and says something to her. The woman then looks up and turns her gaze directly at me. Embarrassed at being caught staring, I turn away from the pair.

Renee leans over to me. “You okay, Mara?” She asks. I look at her and nod. I was fine. Just a touch embarrassed, that was all. Though I wasn’t about to tell her that.

When we get back to the table, there are three pitchers of beer on the table, and a glass beer mug set by each place. Our coats stood watch over our own empty glasses. I set down my plate of food and grab Roger Vance, who was sitting next to me. “What’s this?” I ask him.

“Marquis sprung for the beer. He wants to do a toast. You want me to pour you some?”

“Thanks. I can take care of it.” I reach for the pitcher and pour myself a glass of the amber colored liquid. I look towards Marquis, who is sitting at the head of the table. Only fitting really, since he was our boss.

Marquis gets out of his chair, revealing his modest height. I was actually a couple inches taller than him when I wore heels, so I’d put his height at close to my own five foot nine inches. He scans the table and our faces. “Everyone here?” He pauses a moment, seemingly taking roll call. “Everyone got a full glass?” In reply, we raise our glasses a few inches off the table. “Good.” He raises his glass high. “First, let me welcome the office’s newest recruits in the war for Justice. Mark Allen and David Gonzales.

The two stand up for a moment and sit back down quickly. I look to Renee, who sits on my left, and offer her a small shrug. The two hadn’t been the best qualified or the most ideal, in our opinions, but even so, they were capable attorneys and the final decision hadn’t been ours to make.

“But a toast to the man of the hour. Philip Magruder, who managed to reveal DiAmato’s overzealous prosecution of his client before he was convicted of a crime he didn’t commit.”

We all get up and raise our glasses. “To Magruder.” We reply. He was sitting across the table from me, and I could see the people next to him slapping him on the back, congratulating him. I had to hand it to DiAmato. He was a lousy boss, and as a Prosecutor, he loved to cut corners and skate the legal lines. This was the first time though that any of us had been able to call him on it, because there were two things he was really good at: choosing a jury that would get him a conviction, and getting the police to help him find evidence that would help their case against the suspect, no matter what the means. I was almost sad that he hadn’t stayed a P.D. I got over that quick.

We continue eating, drinking, and otherwise carrying on. After all, it was Friday night, so none of us HAD to go to work tomorrow (though some of us probably would choose to come in), so we could spend the morning sleeping in. As the waitress comes to take away the empty pitcher, I grab her by the sleeve. “Hey, could I get a cup of coffee?”

“Sure thing, hon.” The waitress replies. God, I hated when women younger than me called me hon. There was something just so terribly disrespectful about that. I watch her walk away, and notice that the woman in black leather was sitting alone at a booth. Her male companion was nowhere to be seen.

The crowd was thinning out a little bit too. The workers were starting to go home, and the college crowd, fueled by the cheap beer, was starting to get rowdy. Three of the women got up and started dancing with each other. A couple guys got up and started dancing with them, coming gradually closer to the women with each move until you couldn’t even slip a credit card between them as their bodies gyrated against each other. I turned away from their simulated sex acts. It was too disgusting for me to watch.

My coworkers didn’t give any signs of wanting to leave quite yet, and I didn’t want to be the first to leave the party. Actually, the way I was brought up, one wasn’t supposed to leave a party until the guest (or guests) of honor did. Magruder is getting ready to regale us with the tale of how he was able to triumph over DiAmato, so I swirl the dregs of the beer around in my mug and watch DiAmato intently and listen to him tell his story.

I must admit that I wanted to listen to the story, even though I’d already heard it once. There was just something so satisfying about hearing about DiAmato’s crushing defeat. So maybe that’s why I didn’t hear the guy coming up behind me.

I felt a tap on my right shoulder. It must have been Renee. Maybe she wanted me to walk back with her to the office. I start to turn, and catch a glimpse of Renee laughing and talking to Marquis at the head of the table. If it wasn’t Renee, then who was it? I looked up and I see a businessman with a bit of a five o’ clock shadow wearing a rumpled suit and a tie that was half undone and now hung loosely around his neck. I feel suddenly vulnerable and look towards my coworkers, who at the moment didn’t seem to notice my plight.

“Can I help you?” I ask. I get up from my seat, wanting to even the height disadvantage between us. He must have been oozing booze from his pores, because I can smell the odor hanging on him like cheap aftershave. I’d seen this guy at the Cock before. He was usually trying to pick up the ladies, and more often than not, failed miserably. Obviously, tonight, he’d decided to try his luck with me. Dumb move. I don’t give the Cock’s pick-up artists the time of day, assuming they choose to bother me at all. Thankfully, most of them considered female lawyers just a bit too intimidating.

He grabs my hand and starts to pull me away from the table. “Dance with me.” He asks.

I try to pull away. “Sorry, I’m afraid I’m not good at dancing.”

The guy pulls me in closer and farther away from the safety of my coworkers. I can feel his hot breath on me. “I think you’ll do just fine. And that outfit of yours will look real nice on my bedroom floor.”

I roll my eyes. Oh jeez, that had to be one of the worst pick-up lines I’d heard in a very long time. The music stops, and no new song starts. All eyes in the bar are now on the drama between the drunken guy and me. Crap. To be honest, there are few times when I like to be the center of attention. This is definitely not one of them times. Well, either I do this with an audience, or I continue to put up with the guy’s crap. I didn’t want to encourage the guy, so I step away from him. “I’m sorry, I’m really not interested.” I try to head back towards my coworkers.

The guy grabs my arm and pulls me back so quickly, I swore I might have gotten whiplash. “I see how you are, bitch. You’re not interested because you’re a fucking lesbo! You tease men with your short skirt and cleavage, and then say you’re not interested so you can laugh about it later with your dyke girlfriend. I say you just haven’t had a guy screw you properly.” He then grabs me and kisses me, forcing his tongue between my lips, probing my mouth. To say that it made me uncomfortable was an understatement. It reminded me of the darker times in my life.

I lost it. Right there and then. I ball my right hand into a fist, pull it back, and hit the guy. It knocks him flat on his ass, and the whole bar starts to applaud. The women seems to be the loudest among them, as most of them had suffered the guy’s unwanted attentions at one point or another. I start to walk back to the table and Renee is running in my direction. “Mara! Are you okay?”

I reach the table and grab my coat and purse. “I’m fine, but I’m getting out of here before things get worse.” I look over toward the bar. The bartender and the waitresses were getting back to their tasks, and no one seemed to be going for a phone. Not even the guy I just decked. “No. I should probably call the cops first.” I look to my coworkers, and call the cops. Just because we were lawyers didn’t make us above the law. And of course the last thing the office needed was a lawyer getting busted for assault.

“Police Non-Emergency. How can I help you?”

“Hi there. My name is Mara Ravenclaw. I’m at the Black Cock Pub on South Jackson Street. I just decked a guy that tried to attack me.”

“Is the man hurt?”

I look back at the man, who was making a quick exit from the bar. “Um, I don’t believe so. He’s walking out the door as we speak.”

“Do you know his name?”

“I’ve seen him in here before, but no, I don’t know his name.”

“Ma’am, the police are very busy tonight. If the other person involved has left and you don’t know who he is, I can’t dispatch an officer to take a report about a fight that isn’t currently in progress. However, I will keep your name and information, and if the gentleman presses charges related to this assault, we will call you.”

I give the dispatcher my name, address and phone number, along with my daytime phone number. Luckily for me, she didn’t recognize the number right away. Or if she did, she gave no indication.

Renee looks at me expectantly. “What did the cops say?”

I put my cell phone in my coat pocket. “They said they’re too busy to deal with taking a report if the fight’s not in progress and the guy’s bailed.” Most of the other ladies were starting to crowd around me. They were congratulating me, saying the guy deserved it. That didn’t really make me feel better. I mutter a few thanks and excuse myself, only to run straight into my boss, Mr. Marquis. Well, at least it didn’t happen on the premises or during work hours. He shouldn’t be able to fire or discipline me for this incident. I look at the floor, a bit embarrassed and ashamed at my conduct. I’d single-handedly managed to spoil the celebration.

“Ms. Ravenclaw.” I look up at him, and Marquis has a dark look etched on his face. “I understand the cops don’t plan to take a report about this incident.”

“No Sir.” I reply. “They said they were too busy.”

Marquis hands me a piece of paper. Well, not paper so much as a cocktail napkin with fuzzy scribbles in blue ballpoint. “Well, in case you need it, I got the names and phone numbers of the bartenders and waitresses working here tonight.”

“Thanks Mr. Marquis.” I take the napkin, fold it in half and tuck it into the side pocket of my purse.

“Look, kid. The guy made a move on you first, and kept up his pursuit even after you told him you weren’t interested. Hitting him might not have been the best choice, but what’s done is done. I’m not going to write you up or have you disbarred for something that you didn’t encourage or start.”

I nod and put on my coat, then put my purse over my shoulder. “I appreciate that Sir. I really do.” I guess my boss wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Then again, like me, he’s familiar with the pathology of rape, and the guy’s attack on me had all the hallmarks of escalating into that. If I hadn’t fought back, things could have gotten much, much worse.

“Go home and get some rest, Ravenclaw. I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.”

I nod and put on my best insincere smile. Then I head for the door. Renee stops me before I can make it. “Mara let me walk back with you.”

I shake my head. “Thanks, Renee, but I’ll be fine.” I open the door and start to head back to the office. But when I left the Cock and its brightly lit façade, the neighborhood seemed much darker than it was when I left my office. Surely, it couldn’t be that late. I look at my watch to see that it is really only eight o’clock.

The Cock’s parking lot, like the building itself, is brightly lit. The owners were very safety-conscious. Though that could likely be due to the fact that a female student had been raped in the parking lot five years ago. While the cops never found who did it, the victim had hit the bar with a civil suit for providing the unsafe conditions that led to the rape. It was rather sad really, that far too often, someone had to be injured or killed in order for corrective actions to be taken.

I pull my coat tight around me to ward off the cold wind, and clutch my purse close to my body to ward off any possible purse-snatchers. I begin making the walk back to my apartment. The Cock was only three blocks from my office, and my apartment was another five blocks away from that. It was an easy walk most of the time, though the trip was sometimes fraught with the occasional hazards of puddles, bicyclists and red light runners, to name a few.

As I get two blocks away from the bar, I feel a cold chill go up my body as I come to a realization. The guy had left the bar before I did, and I had no idea where he’d gone. For all I know, he could have been waiting for me in the parking lot. Of course, I’d passed the parking lot, and I didn’t see any sign of him. Shit, maybe I should have taken Renee up on her offer. I look at the streets around me, but there was no sign of lights. Not really any sign of traffic either, though Interstate 5 was just a few short blocks away.

I get to the Walthew Building, which is where my office is, and all the lights are off. I consider heading inside. I look around the darkened street and the closed up storefronts. It wasn’t this scary during the day. Why was it creeping me out now? I think about turning back, but my apartment wasn’t that far away now.

I reach the corner of Third Avenue and Cherry, and the light turns red before I can get up to it. Damn. I hate when that happens. This intersection had timed lights, so that even though there was no other traffic, I had to wait at the light. I suppose I could jaywalk across the street, but I didn’t want to risk getting a ticket. I’ve already escaped one brush with the police tonight, so it’s better not to press my luck.

While I wait for the light to turn, a vehicle pulls up to the crosswalk and comes to a gentle stop. I hear the van’s rumbling idle as I wait for light to change. I glance over. It was an older van. The nearby streetlight reflected upon the body, revealing a surface that was marred by several dents. The driver’s compartment was unlit, so I could barely make out the silhouette of the driver, and I certainly couldn’t see the person’s face.

I look back at the red light, and I hear the van’s panel door open. I have a very bad feeling, so I suppress my first instinct, which is to look inside, and instead start to run back down Third Avenue, heading back toward the Cock.

The van goes in reverse and speeds past me. It pulls up onto the curb just ahead of me. Before I can change directions, someone gets out of the van. I back away. Was this the guy from the bar, coming to get revenge? But wait, they were getting out of the open panel door, which meant that there was more than one of them. I retreat into the shadows, my assailant moves into the light. It is the strange woman I had seen in the bar earlier. She moves into the range of a nearby streetlight, and I can see her eyes. There is a strange look in them, the wild, dangerous look of a predator.

I’d just run two blocks, in heels no less, and was feeling a bit winded. Keeping my distance from her, I touch the building to try to gain a bit of support and catch my breath to possibly prepare for another sprint. “What the hell do you want?” I demand, pulling from my inner reserves of courage. The adrenaline started kicking in, and I didn’t feel quite so tired.

For a moment, the woman says nothing, but starts to move toward me in a languid manner, like a cat playing with a mouse. In the dim light, I can see a smile appearing on her face. One that didn’t seem very friendly. She speaks a single word. “Blood.” Shit, she must be the guy’s girlfriend, trying to even the score. I back away, towards the nearby alley, feeling around in my purse for my can of pepper spray, keeping an eye on her and not daring to look down to better look for it.

My fingers locate the cold metal cylinder, and I look down the alley in dismay. There was no other outlet save the way I came in. I wrap my hand around the pepper spray canister, but before I can pull it out, the woman has closed the gap between us in the passing of mere seconds. She pulls me farther into the alley and shoves me against the brick wall then grabs me by the collar of my blouse and pulls me closer to her. In the depth of the shadows I can’t see anything.

I gasp in surprise as I feel a sharp, sudden pain on the side of my neck. I let go of the canister, and it falls back into my purse, lost to me. Had she cut my throat? I didn’t feel any blood pouring down my clothes. I try to pull away, but the brick wall offers me no possible means of escape. She tightens her hold on me, pressing my body farther against the unyielding wall. I hear a strange sucking sound, and I instinctively tilt my head. I can feel blood rising to the site of the wound, but there is no warm gush of blood running down my blouse. What the hell? Is she sucking my blood?

I can’t move though. I feel suddenly warmed from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. A silvery feeling travels through me, and can no longer fight it, so I surrender to the feeling and cry out in ecstasy. So this is what good sex feels like. But now I there was another sensation, my limbs were starting to go numb and felt like leaden weights. And there was something else. Darkness. Blackness. Oblivion. I was no longer able to move, much less struggle, like a fly caught within a spider’s web. And this was one really big spider. Soon, the only thing I am aware of is the beating of my heart. It is beating slower, slower, and still slower. If this doesn’t stop soon, it would flat line. And I’d be dead. But the welcoming embrace of Death was so seductive. So this is it then. My life ends in an alleyway. I wasn’t ready, but what choice did I have?