Outside The Lines:: Third Person Narration (3 page)

But she didn’t see them, because she was headed for the slopes, determined to have fun and get a life, or kill herself trying.
 

Chapter Two

“IS THIS SOMEONE’S fucking idea of fun?”
 

It was the third time Judge Billings had posed the question, and although the curse was a new addition this round, Johnny Danger was still ready to bang his head against the wall.
 

But there were clients in the room, and another attorney, so he forced himself to sit back in his chair at the head of the conference table and wait for Judge Donald ‘Buck’ Billings to reach the end of his red-faced, arm-flinging rant about last minute changes to valuations and year-end divorce filings and upstart accountants with odd names.
 

It was probably going to take awhile.
   

“Not sure anyone’s having fucking fun here, Don,” Johnny said calmly. “Want to sit down?”

The judge slammed his palms on the conference table. “I want this figured out.”

The soon-to-be-ex-Mrs. Billings sat quietly, hands folded on the table in front of her.
 
Johnny took a wild guess that this wasn’t the first time she’d run this race with the judge.
 
Her eyes peered into the near distance, unfocused and calm.

Beside Mrs. B sat her friend-who-was-an-attorney-but-not-
her
-attorney, Farrah James, an art lawyer with very nice legs and an evil glare.
 
Farrah pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger and stared daggers at Johnny.
Make your client shut up.
 

I would if I could
, he glared back.
 

As if this was his fault. The judge was his partner Dan’s client, as well as Dan’s old friend, and as a
favor
—that should have been his first clue; favors were dangerous things—Johnny had agreed to fill in for a few days on what was supposed to be a simple, no-contest, amicable divorce between two clients who’d been on Dan’s caseload and at his house for dinners countless times.
 

Until now, it had been precisely that: amicable, easy, simple.
 

Then came the Jauntie Report, as Johnny had taken to calling it over the past few hours.
 

And now Ms. Jauntie, nowhere to be found, not answering her phone or texts.
 
Like a sprite, she’d worked her mischievous, destructive magic, then disappeared.

And now ‘Buck’ Billings, the normally icy-cool president judge of the district’s juvenile court system, was on an apparently-unstoppable rant about the paperwork Ms. Jauntie had requested, how it was both unnecessary and had already been provided, how he did not want the divorce delayed past the new year, and how he absolutely, positively, did not want it to go to court.

Johnny looked at Mrs. B’s almost-lawyer and didn’t see how that was possible.

“This was supposed to be a done deal,” the judge railed, pacing the room. “Anna and I have already agreed on everything, haven’t we, Anna?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. “And now this, this
accountant,
” he spat the word like a curse, “is asking for all sorts of unnecessary paperwork and it all comes up while Dan is gone, which is highly suspicious.”

Johnny slid his gaze away from the window he’d been staring out. “Suspicious?”

“And now,” the judge’s voice dropped to a hiss as he leaned across the table, closer to Johnny, “now that goddamned lawyer of hers is frothing at the bit.”

 
Farrah the goddamned lawyer recrossed her legs angrily, staring over the judge’s shoulder at Johnny.

Way to go
.
 
“You’re mixing your metaphors, judge,” Johnny said, then leaned forward.
 
“And they can hear everything you say.”

The judge straightened with a snap. “This ends here. We
will
move forward with the valuation previously agreed to, it will
not
go to court, and it will be done by year’s end. Which is four days away.” He aimed his stabbing finger at Johnny.
 
“
Four days—
did you know that, Danger?”
 

A hard silence fell.
 
Mrs. B’s gaze slid over.
 
Farrah stopped jiggling her foot.

“Five,” Johnny told him.

The judge stared. “What?”

“Twenty-six plus five is thirty-one.”

More confused silence.
 
“What the hell are you talking about?”
   

“Today is the twenty-sixth. You want this done by the thirty-first. That leaves five days, not four.”

The judge’s eyes narrowed. “Are you joking?”
 

“I’m minusing.”

A shocked silence fell.
 
“You think you’re smart?” hissed the judge.

Johnny met his eye. “It’s just subtraction.”

Farrah the angry lawyer gave a little gasp. The judge’s face flushed red and his hands fisted at his sides.
 

Mrs. Billings went into motion, popping forward in her chair, sliding a stack of papers closer to Johnny.
 

“I’m sure Ms. Jauntie did not intend to slow things down, Donald,” she said calmly. “She knows how much we want this settled by year’s end. Perhaps if you simply supply the paperwork requested, this will all move along swiftly?”
 

“I have supplied it,” the judge seethed through gritted teeth.
   

Farrah the unofficial lawyer leaned forward. “I think the wisest, simplest thing is simply to renegotiate the previous,
tentative
agreement, and come to a new understanding. Before it goes to court.”

The threat was delivered lightly, but the judge rounded on her. His silvery head of hair almost glowed in the cold morning light coming through the windows as he stabbed the air with a finger.
 

“No.”

“Fine,” she said evenly. Her gaze moved to Johnny. “What are you prepared to offer?”
 

The judge said “Nothing,” at the same moment Johnny said, for the fifth time, “I’m not his lawyer.
 
I’m not anyone’s lawyer.”
 
No one seemed to be listening.

The judge stepped forward. “You’re my lawyer now.”

“I am not.”

“I’m appointing you.”

Johnny sat back, almost enjoying the show. “You can’t do that.”

The judge simmered at him. It was uncharacteristic of a man known for his icy calm. Johnny’s gaze slid to Mrs. B’s carefully-constructed patience.
 
Or maybe not.

In fact, Mrs. B was the only reason Johnny hadn’t walked out entirely.
 
He knew Mrs. B, he liked Mrs. B, very much, and he believed, fervently, in her divorce.
 
He’d given her advice and referrals and now, was sitting here, resisting the urge to punch Judge Billings in the face.
 
All for Mrs. B and his partner Dan.
 
But at some point, enough was enough.
 

He decided now was that time.

“I can recommend someone,” he said, and pushed out of his seat, heading for his handy list of divorce lawyers.

“Please, Johnny, wait,” Mrs. Billings said quietly.
 

He sighed and turned back.
 
Mrs. B tipped to the side and whispered in her lawyer-friend’s ear.
 
Farrah listened, nodded twice, shook her head once, then stared at Mrs. B a moment and turned to the room.
 

“We’d like to suggest a compromise.”

The judge narrowed his eyes.

Farrah zeroed in on Johnny. “The idea of a protracted divorce, ending in court, is not a pleasant one to anyone. Perhaps if one of us,” she looked directly at Johnny, “were to go and speak with Ms. Jauntie, review the documents, hammer out her concerns and come to some understanding, we could perhaps come to an agreement here.” She overturned her manicured hand and made a circle in the air, indicating their tight-knit, hostile little group.

Everyone turned and looked at Johnny.

He looked around. “Me?”

Farrah the lawyer frowned.
 
“Yes, you.”

He sat up.
 
“Why me?”
 

“Because you people speak the same language,” the judge interjected, stepping forward eagerly.
 
“I think it’s a perfect solution.”

How touching, they’d come to agreement on this one issue.

Johnny opened his mouth to say no, then thought of Dan.
 
Dan, who was right now handling the details of a corporate buy-out by one of their wealthiest clients over Christmas.
 
Dan, who’d been at Johnny’s side since day one, a sort-of elder statesman, even though he was barely six years older than Johnny, because Dan hadn’t spent over a decade in Afghanistan and other places he couldn’t talk about.
 
And thus, Dan had brought both legitimacy and clients to Danger Enterprises when it first launched.
 
Dan, who’d left a lucrative position with a high-powered firm and risked it all to join Johnny.
 
Because that’s what partners did for each other. That’s what friends did.

“It’s up to you, of course,” Farrah the almost-lawyer was saying. “But otherwise, I do believe everyone’s going to need to retain real lawyers, and then this is going to get messy,” she said sadly.
 
Threateningly.
 

“Yes, Johnny, please do,” Mrs. Billings’ soft voice rode under all the bluster of the room.
 

Inwardly, he groaned. Outwardly, he turned to the judge. “It’s going to cost you.”

“Whatever it takes.”

“I’m not your lawyer.”

“Consultant, whatever.
 
Just go.”
 

The meeting wrapped up quickly, Johnny in possession of a stack of papers and very little information on the last known whereabouts of Juliette Jauntie, until he spoke to his assistant, Roxy, who was suspiciously well-informed on the matter.
 

“How do you know all this shit?” he asked.

“I talk to people. You glare.”

He tried again, more specifically. “How do you know where Juliette Jauntie went skiing?”
 

“I recommended it,” she said brightly.
 
Roxy did most things brightly.
 
And with crushing efficiency.
 

“You had to recommend a place in Nevada?” he complained, reaching for his overnight bag.

“Part of it is in California,” she pointed out. “Anyhow, you love it there.”

“I love going there, alone, to my place, not hunting down rogue accountants on ski slopes.”

“Take sunscreen,” she said. “I hear it’s going to be sunny.”

He hung up and stared down at the archive box of paperwork.

Inconceivable.

An upstart accountant had questioned the valuation of Dan, one of the most highly respected experts in the field, and thereby derailed the deconstruction of a thirty-year marriage that had, until now, been proceeding amicably and smoothly, a feat of epic proportions, and turned the usually calm Judge Billings into a raging lunatic on the day after Christmas. All because one minor accountant had asked a whole lot of questions.

But the inconceivable part was that Johnny was attracted to her. Like a moth to a flame.