Injustice Read online

  “Wait, start at the beginning. Why did they fire you? The company had to have at least an official reason.”

  “Sexual harassment.”

  “What‽ You? You were fired for sexually harassing someone? Who?” The coffee was kicking in, and I tried to form complete sentences. “That’s ridiculous. On what grounds are they claiming sexual harassment?”

  Jessie gave me another halfhearted smile, and I forgot my earlier irritation with her. “The official company line is that I was making advances at a client, who just happens to be a female. Personal contact with a client is strictly forbidden, and they fired me. Sexual contact with anyone of the same sex is taboo.”

  “Ah…um, did you make a pass at the client?” I grimaced and raised my eyebrows in what I hoped was a funny gesture. Jessie was cute and young. Sometimes good judgment didn’t accompany those two attributes.

  Jess didn’t appear offended. “No. Never. I wouldn’t cross that line. The client in question is Sarah Conway. She brings millions into the company every year with new ad campaigns and social events. I would be an idiot to try to shag her. She’s rich, powerful, and a complete and utter bitch. Sarah Conway is more trouble than she’s worth. I never even considered her as a fling, and something more serious is out of the question. We don’t exactly run in the same circles.”

  We were getting off track, but curiosity was derailing my end of the conversation. I had seen Sarah Conway in the social pages of the Denver Post, and she was always photographed alone, which I thought odd for such a beautiful woman. She was stunning, in fact.

  “So, is Sarah Conway…gay?”

  Jessie shrugged. “I have no idea. My interaction with her was strictly business. If she is, I never had any indication. I was very careful around Ms. Conway and just tried to develop marketing campaigns that didn’t cause her to scream at me.”

  I’d donned my lawyer hat and started gathering the facts. “Did you ever indicate interest in her or in women in general?”

  “Nope. We discussed the projects and nothing else. Well, maybe I asked what she wanted to eat, if we sent out for lunch during long meetings.”

  “Did she ever come on to you?”

  Jessie snorted. “I was just happy when she wasn’t throwing crystal vases at my head. In the end, she told me she loved every project we completed together, but it was hell getting to that point with her.”

  “Did she make a complaint to your boss?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Joey didn’t elaborate when he fired me. It was an efficient and short meeting.”

  “Your boss’s name is Joey?” I liked him even less now. What grown man was called Joey?

  Jess didn’t pick up on the sarcasm. “Yep, Joey Costelli. He’s been in the advertising business for a long time and transferred in from California a few years ago. The company loves him; he brought in a ton of clients and is making the firm a lot of money.”

  “Did you get a severance package or anything else?”

  “No. I didn’t even get a chance to clean out my office. Joey said they would pack and send my belongings to my loft. Everyone in the building watched the guard walk me out like a criminal. The rumors and gossip that are circulating through the advertising community are vicious. I’ll never get a job again.” Jess broke down.

  I gave her a few minutes before reaching over and patting her shoulder, an empty gesture but the best I could do, mostly because I was uncomfortable watching grown people cry. The situation was absurd. I watched Jess shake and realized that she was the second woman in as many weeks that had been attacked out of the blue.

  “What are you doing now?” I asked.

  Her shoulders sagged. “I’m hanging out in my loft, waiting for my bank account to be drained. I guess I can file for unemployment benefits, but the company might fight my claim. I’m sure Mosaic’s lawyers will make sure any chance I have at getting unemployment is squashed, so I am really screwed. I should be okay for a while, but my savings are going to run out soon, and I doubt I can find work in Denver. I’ll probably have to move if I want to work in advertising again. I don’t really know what I’m going to do.”

  “Well, don’t panic just yet. We can think of something. Like I said the other day, Adam is always looking for a good bartender.”

  With a quick hug and a promise to talk later, I left Jessie and ran back to the apartment, my mood black. The bullshit and simple unfairness of the world were eating at me. I had moved to Denver to lie low and not get involved in such situations, but it now seemed inevitable.

  Chapter 8

  My shift at the bar didn’t start until six, so I had the rest of the day to focus on Operation Joey, in between reading and absorbing the latest assignments for school. I spent the morning on the couch with my laptop, researching and making notes. Jessie worked for Mosaic Advertising, and their various endeavors were well documented in the open source space.

  “God bless the Internet,” I thought as a Google search revealed more than I could possibly need to know about Mosaic.

  The company had been in Denver since the 1950s and had a long lineage of corporate ad campaigns and community projects. Social responsibility seemed high on the company’s agenda, at least publicly, and the site showed Mosaic employees at various community projects, from working on playgrounds in the Curtis Park neighborhood to staffing a food bank in downtown Denver.

  An entire page was dedicated to Joey Costelli, who was clearly regarded as the prodigal son. Joey had moved to Denver from Los Angles and had “revolutionized the Colorado landscape by creating integrated marketing solutions through a modality of cutting-edge media platforms to deliver the highest customer service experience possible.” I stuck my tongue out at the screen. Who writes this crap? Joey was highlighted throughout the site, in business and social situations. He appeared to be in his late thirties and actually wasn’t bad looking. His dark features photographed well, although I noticed that, like his high-end client Sarah Conway, Joey always seemed to be photographed alone or with different groups of people. The women, especially, had an odd look of similarity and seemed to fit a specific type: blonde hair, ridiculously skinny, and the look of high, high maintenance. I wondered if they were paid escorts or if Joey had convinced them to spend time with him without the benefit of his AmEx card.

  Sarah Conway proved to have an even nicer set of credentials according to the Denver social pages. Rich, powerful, and outwardly generous, she was featured in various charity and political events, being photographed frequently with the mayor, governor, and other community leaders. Sarah always attended solo, and there did not seem to be a Mr. Conway. Or a Mrs. Conway, I thought. The gay allegation was from left field, and I found nothing linking Sarah Conway to another woman

  Shutting down the public Internet sites, I typed in a few passwords and began to research Joey and Sarah through the cyber tunnels few other people could access. I again started with Joey and started building a mission dossier in a separate ghost file on the laptop. Basic information: single, thirty-eight years old, $254K a year salary plus bonuses, birth records, and known associates went into the file. Financial records showed real estate holdings and credit accounts, one of which seemed dedicated to a well-known Denver escort service. Oh, so stupid. I congratulated myself on being right about Joey’s women and did a mental high five. Joey drove a BMW 760d sedan and a BMW X6 sport utility vehicle. Combined, they cost about three times what I was paying for law school. Both also needed oil changes, and I made a mental note to let Joey know he should take better care of his toys. Joey lived in the Icehouse Lofts on the edge of Denver, near the ballpark. Of course he did. The lofts were in a historic section that had been revitalized and were warehouse-style spaces close to the hottest bars in the city.

  I conducted a similar search on Sarah Conway, which revealed basic data in the way of finances (she was a gazillionaire), real estate (Sarah held significant ownerships within the city proper and the surrounding suburbs), and vehicles (her taste wa
s more toward Mercedes). I found myself surprised to feel a sense of relief when I couldn’t find an escort service or any other disparaging information on Sarah. Whatever her lifestyle, she had either kept it well hidden or paid to keep it out of sight.

  Mosaic Advertising was even less exciting. They paid their taxes and genuinely seemed to believe in social responsibility. The community service projects featured on their public website weren’t just a corporate marketing ploy; Mosaic invested a significant amount of time and money into the Denver community, and the tax records verified their generosity. They wouldn’t want public scrutiny or bad press, I thought.

  A few more steps and I would effectively ruin Joey Costelli for good. I sighed. It was too easy. I checked my inner compass for a twinge of remorse, regret, guilt, or moral obligation. Finding none, I tunneled my way into the State of Colorado sex offender database, which was maintained by the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, or CBI, for short. Their security firewalls were laughable, and it took a mere thirty seconds to enter the back end of the system.

  Within a few minutes, I had classified Joey Costelli as a violent sexual predator and created a long and disturbing criminal history for him, to include offenses in both Colorado and California. I generated a message from CBI to all Colorado law enforcement agencies, notifying them of the new entry, and added the caveat that Joey had (whoops) not registered with the state and had been placed on the Colorado Top 100 Fail To Register Sexual Predators list. I also added Joey’s Icehouse address, with the standard language to the Denver Police Department that they were mandated by state statute to notify the community of Joey’s status and location. Smiling to myself, I exited the CBI site and implemented step two.

  I hit a site that provided dummy IP addresses at a low cost and selected from the long list of possible locations. I chose an IP address close to the Icehouse to add a sense of credibility, should anyone think to check the origin of the next e-mail. In the spirit of an effective anonymous tip, the message was simple and to the point. Joey Costelli, the darling of the Denver social scene and Mosaic Advertising top executive, was an unregistered and violent sex offender. He was a danger to the community and an embarrassment to his employers. The subject line of the e-mail read, Community leader = sexual predator. Please help. With a push of the send button, the e-mail landed in the accounts of the investigative reporters at all four major media outlets in Denver. I knew it was too irresistible for them to pass up, and I imagined reporters vaulting across the news desks, scrambling to put together a mobile crew to set up outside the Icehouse before the five o’clock newscast. I checked my watch. I would need to hurry to make the next step in the plan work.

  I selected a flattering photo of Joey from Google and dropped it into a flyer template. The message on the flyer was much the same. Bad, scary guy is living in your neighborhood, and you don’t even know it. I printed a hard copy of the flyer, threw a ball cap and sunglasses on as my attempt at a disguise, and was out the apartment door.

  I stopped at a Kinko’s near the Icehouse Lofts and realized the disguise wasn’t necessary, given the odd assortment of characters that were also making copies. I quickly ran a hundred color flyers. No one was paying attention to me, and I slipped out unnoticed. Next, I walked into the Icehouse neighborhood, pulling my hat low in deference to the inevitable security cameras in the area.

  I dropped the flyers in front of each business surrounding the lofts and taped them on top of newsstands or over old flyers on light poles. Since the area was full of pedestrians busy with their Saturday afternoon plans, no one even looked in my direction. After a few strategic stops, I was out of the flyers and went into a coffee shop to watch the effects of my work. Some people stopped and looked, shook their heads, and moved on. Others looked disgusted, and as expected, none looked very happy after reading the information. I checked my watch. Two-thirty. The news media would be in the area within the next hour.

  Returning home, I puttered around the apartment, avoiding the law books that were stacked on the kitchen table. I knew I should read the week’s assignments, but the thought of digesting more case law before work left me less than motivated. Plus, I was trying to script a phone call to Ali and couldn’t concentrate.

  At about four, I felt brave enough to dial her number and thought I had a good plan. I would keep the conversation light and casual, focusing on general topics like our progress on our assignments and the weather. I would not bring up the fact that I thought she was a hottie and that I’d like to see her naked in my bed, I reminded myself. I held my breath as her phone rang. And rang. When it clicked over to voice mail, I hung up. I could barely talk on the phone to a live person, and history had shown me that nothing good came from me leaving a bungled, semi-intelligible voice message. Instead, I again blessed technology and sent her a short and generic text saying I had enjoyed myself the night before and asking her to call me later.

  I checked the news websites for any mention of Joey but found nothing. At five o’clock I started flipping through the channels, and found that it was even better than I could have hoped for. All the stations had live feeds from the front of the Icehouse, and the reporters were breathlessly repeating the story, being careful to call the situation “unconfirmed at this time.” A few had located the flyers, and the cameras were doing a fine job of zooming in on the text. All the stations had had enough time to locate old footage of Joey at Mosaic events and were looping the video while the reporters repeated that it was a “breaking and developing story.” Cut to a shot of a Denver Police spokesman, who was being careful not to confirm or deny anything. And cut back to a reporter who was reading a press release from the Mosaic legal team, who had created a dodgy statement about possibly false allegations, public trust, and the moral fiber of the company. It wasn’t half bad, considering the Mosaic executives had been caught off guard on a Saturday and had scurried to issue the statement by the first newscast.

  Nice. It was a good start.

  Chapter 9

  It was finally Saturday, having survived another week of learning. Adam flashed me a rare smile and a wink as I entered the bar ten minutes early. The crowd was thin, but the afternoon would soon drive thirsty souls into the cool darkness of the bar. I checked on my customers and restocked the beer cooler. Lesbians, as a whole, I generalized, tend to start with beer. At some point in the evening, they lose all common sense and switch to shots or absurdly expensive mixed drinks. As quickly as the beer changes to liquor, the calm morphs to drama. It made for interesting evenings for me in the main area and some terrible mornings cleaning the bathrooms.

  Adam was always trying new things at the bar, and this Saturday’s feature event was strip trivia. We had never attempted it before, and I shook my head at the thought of the many things that could go wrong. But it was Adam’s bar, and he took the challenge of entertaining the crowd very seriously, knowing that the gays of Denver had many options on a weekend night. As the afternoon turned to evening, the bar filled, and Adam set up the stage for the trivia competition and made sure Oliver, the designated MC and bar’s prettiest employee, was briefed on his role. I couldn’t help but notice that part of Oliver’s job tonight involved wearing a small pair of shorts and nothing else. I cocked my head and looked at Adam. “Really?”

  “The boys like him, so I don’t want to hear it.”

  I eyed the growing crowd, noticing it seemed a little more mainstream this evening. “I think some of these girls might like Oliver, too, by the looks of it.” I could see a gaggle of young things giggling and falling on each other as they tried to get Oliver’s attention. “Did you think about getting a girl, too? The lesbians are going to be upset they don’t have any eye candy tonight.”

  “Oh, crap. No, I didn’t. Do you think that’s going to be a big deal? I can try to get one of the waitresses to take her top off. Unless you want to do it.” Adam gave me what he believed to be a winning smile.

  “What? No. You and pretty boy are on your own tonight. M
y job will be to keep the angry mob of lesbians from busting up your place.”

  I looked back toward Oliver. “At least the hot oil makes his abs stand out. Nice touch, Adam.”

  He seemed genuinely pleased. “Let’s hope this works.”

  The night crowd thickened, and Adam waited until it seemed sufficiently large and drunk enough to enjoy the event. With a flash of lights and the Jeopardy theme song, Oliver stepped onto the stage in all his oily glory. The crowd loved it from the start, and I saw Adam heave a sigh of relief.

  Oliver had a God-given charismatic charm that was irresistible, and he worked the crowd for ten minutes before starting to pick teams. He gyrated, told jokes, ridiculed members of the audience, and put everyone in a good mood. I watched as Oliver moved through the bar and was horrified to see that one of the women he selected was Jane’s new girlfriend. Hailey was blonde, petite, and cute. Everyone liked her instantly, with the exception of me. It probably had something to do with the fact that Hailey had fucked Jane in our apartment—in our bed, to be exact.

  Tonight, Hailey was dressed in skin tight jeans and wedge flip-flops. Her tight sweater barely contained a set of perky breasts. She smiled and laughed as Oliver led her to the stage. In other words, the bitch looked good.

  Oliver worked the trivia bowl like a pro and took extra care to highlight the removal of clothing when a player missed a question. Luckily, he had the sense to choose an equal number of attractive men and women, and the crowd was in a frenzy each time another article of clothing came off. Much to my dismay, Hailey remained fully clothed, despite a few tough questions Oliver had thrown at her. The bitch was apparently smart as well.