Against All Enemies Read Online Free PDF Page A

office. He muttered the D.A.’s favorite word “Soonest.” The secretary waved him in.
    The D.A. was a big man with gray hair who was not what he seemed. The voters thought he was a sensitive man who cared about them and the community. In reality, he only cared about winning and ran his office with an iron fist. It was the fuzzy warm wrapper around his personality that made him dangerous. “Hank,” the D.A. said, “I heard.” He waved Sutherland to the chair beside his desk. Common wisdom on the fourth floor held that it was the goat seat reserved for those special occasions when some hapless individual was about to make office history. Sutherland sat down. Unfortunately, the chair felt comfortable. “You had a great run,” the D.A. said. “How long has it been since you lost a case?”
    “Over four years,” Sutherland mumbled.
    “Well, you had to lose one sooner or later.”
    “Too bad it had to be this one,” Sutherland said. He heard the patronizing tone in the D.A.’s voice and it hurt.
    “No one can match your record,” the D.A. replied. “Think about it. One loss in a long string of outstanding wins.” Sutherland winced as he endured the pep talk. “I heard the troops work you over out there. You were flying high and they were jealous; don’t let them get you down. Knock it out of the ballpark next time, Slugger.”
    A telephone call from the governor’s office claimed the D.A.’s attention and Sutherland escaped back to his office.
    He dialed his realtor and the woman’s perpetually cheery voice echoed in his ear. “Hank, we’ve got an offer on the house. Given the market, I think it’s a fair one.” He bit his tongue as she related the details. The “fair offer” was more than fifty thousand dollars less than he had invested in the house. She hammered him with the hard reality of what happens when you buy a house as an investment and not a home. Still, it had been Beth’s idea and most of her money that went into it.
    Beth , he thought, where are you? Out of long habit, his eyes came to rest on the silver-framed photograph of his ex-wife on top of the bookcase as the realtor prattled on. “Look at it this way, Hank. You’re still getting more than you paid for it, which means selling isn’t a total loss.” He told her he’d think about it and get back to her in the morning.
    His next call was to his accountant, who gave him the bad news. Because he had recently refinanced the house, he would owe $10,000 in prepayment penalties. It was $9,000 more than he would clear from the sale. He grunted an answer and punched at the phone, breaking the connection. Disgusted, he took off his coat, pulled his tie loose, and pulled out the folders for his next case. This one involved the murder of an inmate at Folsom Prison by another inmate and was also a slam dunk. Although now, he wasn’t so sure.
     
     
    When he closed the last folder, it was dark outside. Rather than go home and rattle around the huge empty house, he went to Biba, an Italian restaurant on Capitol Avenue. It was a delightful habit left over from his marriage and worth every penny. The bartender recognized him and automatically mixed a semidry martini. As always, it was perfect and the aromas coming from the kitchen tantalized him with forbidden excess. He savored the drink and read the menu, in itself a sybaritic pleasure.
    “Hello, Hank,” a soft voice said. He turned and tried to remember the name of the young woman standing behind him. She was a new face at the public defender’s office, a very pretty one, which he hadn’t faced in court. Sherry something. Then it came to him. “Shari with an i ,” he said, giving her his best lopsided grin. He couldn’t remember her last name.
    She returned his smile. “I heard you had a bad day in court.”
    “It happens.”
    “Not to you.” She sat down next to him as her skirt pulled up and her knee brushed against his leg. It wasn’t an accident.
    “Care to join me for