Injustice Read online

  While I had been watching the trivia, the front of the bar had filled with people wanting more to drink, and I struggled to keep up with the orders. Money and booze were switching hands and I knew that we were going to have a good night of income.

  I heard Jessie call my name for the second time that day, but this time with a smile on her face. “Riley! Did you see the news?”

  I played dumb, and turned to grab a bottle of beer so she wouldn’t see my smile. “Nope. What’s up, Jess? You look excited.”

  “Joey is all over the news. They are saying he’s a sex offender and he hasn’t registered with the police. Can you believe it? A sex offender. This is so great!” She threw her head back and laughed, while women around the bar stopped to watch. Jess was beautiful to begin with, but she could stop a room when she laughed.

  I tried to act surprised. “Wow. No, I didn’t see it. That’s amazing. Do you think it will change anything with you?”

  Jess shook her head and shrugged. “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter right now. I’m just happy to see Joey suffer.”

  I hadn’t seen Jane come in while I was talking to Jessie, but I wasn’t surprised when my ex-girlfriend appeared in front of me at the bar. Jane and Hailey were never far apart, and Jane seemed to take special care to show her off when she knew I was working.

  She ordered a Bud Light and a mango daiquiri. I went out on a limb and guessed the daiquiri was for Hailey.

  “Sorry,” Jane said, knowing that having to make a frozen drink in the middle of a mad bar rush was going to slow me down because it was a pain in the ass to mix.

  I called to Joe, the other bartender, “Joe, frozen daiquiri. Mango. Cover me.” I jerked my head toward Jane.

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. That’s so wrong,” Joe moved in and began helping the customer behind Jane. The girl ordered a round of shots, so I knew the crowd was moving into the seriously drunk zone.

  Jane pushed a platinum credit card across the bar at me. “You look good, Riley. When are you going to stop working here? This place is so beneath you. I wish you’d let me help you get a real job.”

  This was an old argument, and I refused to take the bait. “I like working, here, Jane. Do you need anything else?” I pushed the credit card receipt and a pen toward her. “I have customers standing ten deep.”

  I had seen the look a million times before in our relationship and prepared myself for the inevitable. Jane wanted to fight, and the alcohol wasn’t helping her judgment. Jane ignored the credit card slip and touched my hand. Done dealing with her, I leaned around to the next customer and asked the guy for his order, which was a simple round of beer.

  When I turned back to the cooler for the beer, Jane grabbed my upper arm and yanked me back toward her. I winched as my ribs hit the edge of the bar and pulled my arm back.

  “What the fuck? I’m working!”

  Any sense she had was now completely gone. The crowd closest to the bar was staring, and Jane knew she held a captive audience. Despite the trivia bowl and the noise coming from the rest of the crowd, the area around the bar had gone quiet, as the customers waited and held their breath in anticipation of the fight.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, Riley. I asked you a question, so at least have the common decency to answer me. When are you going to quit this shithole and get a real job? You need more direction. This is a waste of your life.” Jane bristled with the standard self-righteousness and judgment that had been at the core of all our disagreements. The crowd collectively turned to me for a response.

  I was careful with my words, as I could see Adam now watching from the other end of the bar. “I need to get back to my customers. We can discuss it later if you’d like.”

  Jane laughed. “I knew you would back down, just like you always do. You were such a coward when we were together, and I shouldn’t expect you to change. You stay here in your little loser life. Meanwhile, I find a hot girl to take home every night.”

  I shook my head and again turned back to the beer cooler, surprised when once again a hand grabbed my arm and pulled me back toward the bar.

  I was done. Fuck it, I thought. If Adam fires me for killing her, then so be it. I cocked my arm and turned to punch the area where I had last seen Jane’s face.

  Jessie ducked my roundhouse and deftly slid her arm around my shoulder as I leaned across the bar. I had a flash of Jane’s face as Jessie leaned in to kiss me, smiling as she slid her tongue in my mouth. After a full hour (okay, maybe it was closer to fifteen seconds), Jessie released me and turned back to Jane.

  “Riley has a smokin’ hot girl to take home every night, you cheating bitch.” And with a flurry of limbs, Jane was on the ground.

  The crowd, of course, loved it. We couldn’t have scripted it any better if we had tried. I watched as Jane picked herself off the filthy bar floor and brushed her jeans off, scowling at Jessie and me. The crowd had engulfed her. Jane looked even more crazed, and I finally realized our situation had been pathetic. She turned and stomped off, apparently in search of the precious Hailey.

  Jessie flashed a million dollar smile, while the crowd chanted, “Kiss! Kiss!” at us. It was so random and silly that Jess laughed, leaned across the bar, and kissed me deeply, her tongue rolling around in my mouth in a nice way. I laughed and released her, looking back into the crowd for the next customer.

  My eyes settled on Ali, who gave me a nod and turned, disappearing into the depths of the bar. “Shit.” Against my better judgment, I threaded my way through the crowd, just as she approached the exit. “Hey. Wait.” Ali turned, not angry as I expected, but grinning. She grabbed me and planted one on me just as Jessie had, then walked out, leaving me reeling. “I’ll buy you a drink.” I said more to myself than to her.

  Ali didn’t turn around, but over her shoulder she responded, “Another time. I’ve got to go.”

  I tried one last time. “Where do you need to go at this time of night?” And she was gone.

  Chapter 10

  As I counted receipts, Adam wandered around behind the bar, allegedly restocking. He smiled and whispered, “Dyke drama,” every time he passed me, and I knew he had enjoyed the evening’s festivities. Between strip trivia and the Riley-Jane-Jessie show, we had probably broken a revenue record.

  “Shut up, Adam. I made you money tonight, so leave it alone.” While Adam was enjoying himself, I was now angry that Ali had witnessed the ordeal. I had sent her a few texts, with no response.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?” I asked, unable to keep from smirking at the thought of Jane on the floor. I was willing to bet the beer, combined with God knows what else, would never wash out of her $200 jeans.

  “I watch a lot of UFC,” Jessie replied.

  “Funny,” I said and changed the subject. “So what do you think the news about Joey will do for you? Any possibility of getting your job back?”

  “I doubt it,” Jessie said, “but Mosaic isn’t going to be happy with the bad press. I bet they are flipping out and trying to determine how to minimize the damage and restore their image. The press coverage was amazing. They sent reporters to his loft.” Jessie emphasized the last word, as if it were inconceivable.

  “What about Sarah Conway?” I asked, wiping the top of the bar. It had been a long day, and I was almost done. An empty bed and a night of solid sleep were almost within reach.

  “No idea. She can’t be happy right now, but I don’t know if she’ll pull her account from the firm. Either way, Sarah will try to keep herself out of the muck.”

  “Well, then we’ll have to just see what happens.”

  Chapter 11

  On Sunday, I skipped my morning run and threw on a different ball cap and clothes than I had used the day prior—I was a master of disguise. It was time for phase two. Gathering a digital video camera and a 35 mm camera, I poured myself a travel mug of coffee and was out the door.

  I was in place on top of the building across from Joey’s seventh-level Icehouse lof
t by the time the sun rose over the city. If my research was correct, Joey’s rent-a-date should be leaving soon. I trained the telephoto lens on his floor-to-ceiling windows and waited for activity within the loft. After an hour, I my feet were cold and I needed to pee. I focused on the windows to take my mind off it and willed Joey or his whore to move.

  Much to my bladder’s delight, I didn’t have to wait much longer, as I spied Joey walking to the kitchen, sans clothes.

  “Gross,” I thought, snapping some photos.

  The girl followed a minute later, blonde, also naked, and looking a little worse for wear. She said something to Joey, and he handed her a cup of coffee. Taking it, she gulped and shook her head at something he said. Joey spoke in a more animated way, the agitation clear on his face, even across the space between us. In the next moment, the girl was on her knees in the kitchen, blowing Joey as he leaned against the granite counters.

  “Unbelievable,” I said aloud, snapping photos, once again amazed at people who live in lofts without window shades.

  After a few more sordid minutes, I had seen enough, and I ran down the stairs and into the nearest Starbucks to use the restroom and get more coffee. I reviewed the photos as I sat on the patio in the cold, excited that the expedition had been so productive.

  By seven, the news media was again set up on Joey’s sidewalk and, as I had predicted, so were the protesters. I moved across the street and saw that the crowd was a mix of young to middle-aged women with and without their kids, and a smattering of elderly men. Some protesters were carrying signs and milling in front of the lofts while others were empty handed. Regardless, they were all angry. Passersby stopped to see what was going on, probably hoping it was a murder scene or something similar they could post on Facebook, and soon the crowd spilled into the street. The media was in a frenzy as reporters jockeyed for the “man on the street” reaction to the story. I listened and video recorded the interviews, moving inconspicuously within the group. I was thrilled to hear Joey being so openly criticized by the media. Apparently, the lack of a definitive denial by either the police or Mosaic was enough for the news stations to imply to their viewers that not only was Joey guilty of the allegations, he was also a scumbag living among the fine citizenry of Denver. I was okay with it.

  I moved toward one of the younger women in the crowd. She had been very vocal and was inching toward the cameras. Her makeup and hair were perfect, given the early hour.

  “Can you believe it?” I asked, shaking my head. “Fine neighborhood like this, and that man living here like he deserves to.”

  The woman enthusiastically nodded in agreement, “I know! It’s so terrifying. I can’t believe the police haven’t done anything about it!” The indignation turned her face into an ugly scowl. “We’re not safe with him here!”

  A little melodramatic, but who was I to judge?

  “I know. I live here, and I’m scared to be by myself now.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “And there’s more that the press doesn’t even know. Someone needs to tell them…. I can’t since I live so close to him…”

  The woman’s eyes became large as I looked around and paused for dramatic effect. “He rents hookers almost every night. They’re in and out of his loft constantly. He has one up there right now, a tall blonde this time. He can’t go even a day without a different girl, so what the media is saying about him being a sex offender has to be true.”

  The failed logic of my statement didn’t faze her. “Oh, yes. He has the look of a sex fiend. It’s not safe for any of us. Someone should tell them.” She thrust her chin toward the nearest reporter.

  I looked down and muttered. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but I’m too scared. I have to go. Hopefully, someone will tell them how dangerous Joey Costelli is before another woman gets hurt.” Without another word, I turned and stepped into the crowd, feeling the woman’s gaze follow me.

  Chapter 12

  By the time I returned to the apartment, the “Breaking News” banner was running across the bottom of all the news stations. The reporters looked like they were going to trample one another, as they fought for sidewalk space in front of the lofts, in the never-ending race to tell the newest developments. It was clearly the best Sunday any of them had experienced in a long time.

  The reporters all spoke of an anonymous tip they had just received (the woman had moved fast, apparently) that in addition to the violent sexual offender allegations, Joey was using an escort service. The story was again pitched as “unconfirmed” and “developing,” until the blonde escort emerged from the building and was swarmed by the press. The reporters lobbed questions at her until the blonde escaped into a Lexus parked at the curb. It was only a matter of hours before the media tracked the vehicle and identified her as the registered owner, just as I had done in a few minutes. The paper trail back to the escort service and Joey’s credit card would be revealed by the nightly newscast or the next morning, at the latest.

  I consolidated the photos of Joey and the blonde and integrated them into the video of the media in front of the loft. Using phantom IP and e-mail addresses, I uploaded the file and sent it to Joey’s Mosaic iPhone. The subject line of the e-mail read, Nice blow job this morning, Joey, and the body of the message contained a few words: “Watch. I will call you in ten minutes.”

  I theorized that Joey would find the message on his cell and spend the next nine minutes wondering how to buy his way out of the mess his life had suddenly become.

  As I watched my watch countdown the last few seconds, I ran my phone through a voice over Internet provider and routed the call through a European site. I dialed Joey’s cell and waited as he answered. From the moment he spoke, I could feel Joey’s anger boiling across the phone lines.

  “Who the fuck is this?” he asked. “You motherfucking prick. I will get you. You will fucking pay.”

  “Joey, such language. So immature.” I waited, letting the silence sink in. My voice was digitized, and it sounded eerie, even to me.

  “What do you want? What the fuck is this about? I’m not a sex offender! This is bullshit!”

  “Language, Joey. We can have this conversation tomorrow if you can’t control your temper.”

  That caused him to pause. “No, okay. I won’t cuss. Look, seriously? What is this about? I have money…I can give you as much money as you want. Just tell—”

  I cut him off with a laugh and replied, “This isn’t about money. It’s about you and your behavior. You and I are going to come to an agreement. Or I am going to release the video to the media.”

  Joey yelled, “You don’t have proof of anything! My lawyers will sue the shit out of you!”

  “Bye, Joey. Good luck.”

  While I waited, I ironed my clothes for work and washed the few dishes I had left in the sink.

  After fifteen minutes, I called Joey, who answered with a quiet, “Hello?”

  “Are you done yelling?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, now listen, because if you utter one foul word, and I mean one, I am going to let the press burn you to the ground. Got it?”

  “Yes,” His reply was so quiet I barely heard him. For a millisecond, I felt bad. “By tonight, the press will have identified your blow job queen and will have connected her to the escort service and your personal credit card account. There will be documentation. You left a nice paper trail, Joey. Mosaic is going to fire you within the next week; you are a huge liability, so they need to cut their losses and do so in a very public manner. The Denver Police will take months to sort out the details of the sex offender allegations, even if they can find someone in California to cooperate with any sense of urgency. By the time your good name is cleared, it will be too late. The Icehouse will evict you, as your presence is affecting their cool factor. I’ve played this game before, Joey. If I release the video from this morning to the media, you’re going to start getting death threats. And your money is not going to help the situation, so forget about that angle.”


  “Tell me what you want.”

  “There is a woman who used to work for you. Her name is Jessie Holden. You fired her last week on some bullshit pretense. Remember?”

  “Jesus. This is about her? You’re kidding.”

  “Tell me about Jessie. The truth.”

  “She’s drop-dead gorgeous, man. I just wanted to have sex with her, but she wouldn’t play ball. That’s it. She’s a fucking dyke.”

  “What does Sarah Conway have to do with it?” I asked.

  “How do you…. Ah, Sarah Conway doesn’t even know. She was just an excuse to have Jessie fired. I knew the CEO at Mosaic wouldn’t even question it, if Sarah was involved. C’mon, you can’t be serious.”

  “I am dead serious. So here’s how we are going to play it. When we hang up, you are going to immediately call your bosses at Mosaic and apologize profusely for bringing such disgrace to the agency and their fine moral traditions, blah, blah. Make it sound good. Throw yourself on their mercy; you are not a sexual predator, and the allegations will be disproven, given time and a fleet of lawyers. However, you have a sex addiction, as the escort service can verify, and you need help. Poor you, Joey. You’re really a victim, here.” I snorted.

  “This will ruin me.”

  “Oh, don’t be so short sighted. You will also confess that you have made advances toward your employees and fired them if they failed to sleep with you. Anyone you’ve terminated or who has resigned in the last year needs to be reinstated and offered a nice promotion and bonus package. Jessie, especially, is an invaluable asset to Mosaic and should handle Sarah Conway’s account exclusively.”

  “I can’t say that. Some of the people I fired were guys,” Joey said.

  “All of them, Joey. I don’t care if you fired an eighty-year-old transvestite. You wanted to sleep with everything that moved because you can’t control yourself and need help.”