Breach of Trust Read Online Free PDF Page B

is he knows—”
    “If he knows anything,” Lightner interjected.
    “Whatever he knows, he probably knows from the Lords,” I said. “I think maybe the Lords shot Wozniak, not the Cannibals. Now wouldn’t that be a nice thing to share with the jury.”
    “The Lords? Why would they do that?” Hector asked. “It’s not their turf. It’s not even La Zona. ”
    “I don’t know why,” I said. “But Ernesto Ramirez does. I just know it.”
    “And how many times has Ernesto Ramirez told you to go fuck yourself?” Lightner asked.
    “Only twice,” I conceded, to the amusement of the other lawyers. “But I haven’t turned on the charm yet.”

7
     
    I DROVE HOME, MY EYELIDS HEAVY, EXHAUSTED FROM the comedown after an intense day but propped up on electricity. This had been probably the best day of my professional life. After today, I thought we had a great shot at an acquittal, which three months ago would have been unthinkable. It wasn’t lost on me what this could mean for my career, for my family. I’d never had money, and until a year ago served as a county prosecutor making shit for a salary. This case could make me. Driving home, I let it swim over me, ambition mixed with fantasy, fancy cars and a second home and an Ivy League education for Emily Jane, foreign things to me, all of them.
    I found them both in the nursery when I came upstairs. We had done up one of our spare bedrooms into a nursery for a little girl, pinks and greens with bunny wallpaper. Talia was seated in the rocking chair that her mother had used for her. She had been breast-feeding Emily, and the little one seemed to have settled down for the moment. Talia managed a weak smile but didn’t speak, not wanting to wake the dozing munchkin.
    “How’s she doing?” I asked.
    Talia simply nodded. She looked beautiful and awful at the same time. The shape of her coal-black hair, which she had cropped in anticipation of Emily’s birth, still looked new to me, though tonight it was unwashed and flat against her head. Her eyes were puffy and lifeless. Maybe four hours, tops, of sleep over the last two days will do that.
    “How are you doing?” I whispered.
    “I’m fat, tired, and my nipples are killing me.”
    “Other than that, I meant.”
    “We’re still on for my parents tomorrow?”
    “Sure, yeah.” Tomorrow—Friday night, we were heading out of town to see Talia’s parents, who lived ninety miles south. Talia’s mother had MS, and it was hard for them to make the trip up to the city.
    Talia managed herself out of the chair with Emily cradled in her arms and began the transition. Emily let out a soft moan, and those large, expressive eyes opened. When she saw me, she grimaced in that unsubtle way that babies possess. Pure horror might have described it better. She wasn’t in favor of the transfer from Mommy to me.
    “She had a dirty diaper an hour ago and I just fed her,” she said.
    “Okay. Hey, beautiful.”
    Now safely in my arms, my bellicose beauty broke into a full-out cry, the tiny red face collapsing into utter revulsion. I bounced around the nursery, humming to her and bringing my face close to hers, but she wanted Mommy. I wasn’t good at this yet. I hadn’t developed a rapport with her, a rhythm. With the amount of time I’d spent at work these last ten days, I was hardly different from a guy off the street. I pulled out my bag of tricks I had developed to date. I changed my tone of voice. I closed my own eyes to see if she would mimic. I cited the preamble to the Constitution. I recited her a poem I’d memorized in junior high (“It was six men of Indostan to learning much inclined, who went to see the elephant though all of them were blind”). I held her up at my shoulder, in the crook of my arm, on my legs while seated. I tried a few songs I knew. “Catch” by the Cure. “The Riddle” by Five for Fighting. “Verdi Cries” by 10,000 Maniacs. All over the board, but all slow and soothing, at least