Different

Chapter 4

Sometimes I don't know the difference between potions and drugs. They can taste the same. The bitterness stayed in my throat. I guessed it's the bitter taste that kept me well awake despite less than three hours of sleep. Not bad.

My entrance into Attorney Levin Bishaw's firm was as I had expected. Eyes drawn to me. Papers! They're all over the place. The walk on the aisle to his stern secretary took ages. Her eyeglasses glinted as the light seeped into the window beside her table. Sunlight made her face look unflattering. It made her wrinkles more visible.

"Hi, Greta." I smiled at her, ignoring her usual sour facial expression. "What's today's good news?" I gave her the most endearing smile I could in return for her grimness.

"He"―Greta Kaughan tilted her head to the direction of Atty. Bishaw's office― "wants to take you to his case." She stared at me like with both boredom and contempt.

"Antonio Ignacio's murder case?"

She squinted before shifting her gaze to her computer monitor. "Yes. Get inside." Her face painted her antipathy towards me, which was impossible not to notice. After fifteen months, though, I stopped caring about her and her unfriendliness.

Bishaw's office had a particular citrus smell. It was the air freshener he liked using. The bald man was talking to someone when I entered the room. From where I stood, I could see the sheen on his forehead even if he had turned his chair away from his desk. He liked his room clean. Everything had to be in order. Mess wasn't to be tolerated. Documents either had to be stacked up and filed in the cabinets neatly or be shredded.

Ten minutes of standing didn't feel right. My toes started to buckle in my pumps, or I imagined they did. I heaved a deep breath, making sure the air would make hissing noise as it passed through my nostrils. He sure did hear me. He turned his head a bit, looking sideways at me. Feigning a smile without showing my teeth, I nodded subtly. He waved his right hand before ending the call.

"Perfect!" he exclaimed after giving me a head-to-toe perusal. He mumbled something I didn't comprehend because I didn't pay much attention to him. The short, stout guy liked tagging me along his cases.

The car ride was filled with talks about mundane stuff, things like his family's vacation prospects, all the tall plans, and cases he won in the past. He loved to repeat his accomplishments. After being his favorite escort for a year, I could actually recite his thirty-minute litany about how good he was and how great his family was. Of course, all there was for me to do was nod and smile and pretend I was passionately interested in his egotism.

A sigh of relief came out of my mouth. The man usually got tired of his self-absorption after about half an hour. His snoring filled the back of the car. The guttural noise used to invade my quiet little space until I came to realize it was better than his nauseating recollections.

Of course, the car had to get somewhere. The cold rain woke the lawyer up, jolting him and hurrying me to open the umbrella. He protested about not wearing boots for the rainy weather. He looked at his soiled shoes with a wry expression. I pretended to wipe them inside the room where we were supposed to meet the client, but I was really casting a spell to make things easier.

Two policemen arrived soon with the man who was handcuffed. He didn't look like the man on the file. He had lost weight and looked gaunt. A woman followed them. From the way she looked at us, she appeared nervous.

Bishaw convinced him to admit the crime as the evidence was overwhelming. But Antonio, the guy who constantly shifted his gazes from Bishaw to his wife and then to the cops was adamant. He insisted he had nothing to do with it. That he didn't even know the victim for a murder plot to be plausible.

Bishaw insisted, too, that his admission could lower his sentence and hasten the judicial proceedings. But the longer he tried to convince his client, the more he pressed his innocence, a decision that earned him a hard time on the trial. Bishaw had to call out the counsel of the prosecution for asking loaded questions and intimidating his client. Half of his objections were overruled.

The trial ended in disquiet. The mutterings in the courthouse evoked dread from both the family of murder victim and the suspect's camp. Antonio stooped, never wanting to have eye contact with anyone, not even his wife who sobbed beside him while massaging his back at the same time as if to express her support.

The dismay in Bishaw's face was too apparent. It seemed as though he had no intentions of hiding what he felt. His flared nostrils and pursed lips told me about his exasperation. His chin, help up, and his contemptuous stares at the other lawyer expressed overt displeasure.

I was there observing an interesting scene that unfolded right before my eyes. "Levin, Greta just notified about your next appointment." He didn't want me to address him formally.

He gestured that he needed a short moment with his client. I stood a few feet away, never having even an ounce of interest in eavesdropping. I minded my own boredom, but I pretended to be mildly amused by the situation. I watched as the police escorted Antonio back to the mobile to be taken into detention once again. His wife couldn't conceal the grim in her face as she descended into her rusty car.

On our way back to his office, Bishaw sat quietly. His silence was a relief. What had happened earlier was a terrible blow to his ego. He was in the depths of his thoughts, thinking about how he could salvage his client and prove to his associates he could do the impossible. He was too predictable.

The spring rain was relentless. The drops hit the window of the car with keen passion, grinding against the glass. The mild noise was relaxing.