Page 13 of The Attercop

“He’s suing me for a million dollars in damages!” Saying it out loud made Charlie feel like he was going to faint.

“Here, let me see,” Declan said as he took the paper from him and read. “It seems legit. Look, when Mrs B gets back up here, I’ll have her get our lawyer on the line. I think we’ll need to set up a meeting.”

“What?”

“Congratulations, Pinocchio. You’re not a real detective until someone tries to sue you.” Declan patted Charlie on the back. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been sued. Look, as long as you were doing your job by the book, it’ll be okay.”

Charlie went back to his office and sat in his chair behind his desk. His thoughts swirled. Had he been doing everything by the book? He was pretty sure he had, but if not, he’d probably lose his licence and his job because of this. Declan would probably hire someone else to replace him—someone young and cute, and Declan would fall in love with him. And where would that leave Charlie? Alone. Homeless. Carrie might take him back in with her but she was probably enjoying having her space to herself. If that was the case, he’d have to move back into his parents’basement. His dad, Ted, would like that. He could hold it over Charlie’s head until the day he died. Ted would introduce him as “My unemployed son who threw away a promising career.”

Charlie had to find some way to prove to Declan that he was worth keeping.

Declan knocked on the door jamb of Charlie’s office. “You okay?”

“Sure,” Charlie lied.

Declan sat in the spare chair. “Look, how about if we just focus on this new case?”

“So you’re going to take it?” Charlie asked.

“No. I think it would be a better case for you.”

“For me? But I’m being sued. Won’t I lose my licence if I’m found guilty?”

Declan laughed. “If every detective that did their job and pissed somebody off lost their licence, there wouldn’t be a decent PI left standing. Just think of yourself as being in the company of the best that this country has to offer. Now, getting back to the babysitting job. It would make more sense for you to take it. You’re closer to her age and it won’t look so obvious that you’re protecting her if you’re on campus. I’d probably stick out like a sore thumb. We could even get you a room in a co-ed dorm if necessary…”

“They’re called ‘gender-neutral’ now. The dorms…”

“See, I didn’t know that. That’s why you’re perfect for the job,” Declan said, nodding.

Charlie heard the main office door open. Mrs B stuck her head into his office and silently handed them cups of coffee.

“Thanks,” Declan said, smiling at her. “By the way, can you call our lawyer? Charlie’s being sued.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Charlie?”

“I’m sure Mr What-ever-his-name-is—”

“Our lawyer’s name is Harold Vanstone.”

“Right. I’m sure Mr Vanstone’ll have no problem convincing the guy to drop the charges—”

“Against Charlie!” she repeated, shaking her head, then went to her desk.

“Thank you, Mrs B,” Charlie called out. “Can you also set up an appointment with Mr Slate and his daughter? Their case could be worthwhile after all.”

“I set up the appointment before I gave Declan the file,” she replied. “Jules will be in on Monday morning.”

“Thanks, Mrs B,” Charlie said.

He heard her pick up the phone. “This is Joan Beckerman from Declan Hunt Investigations for Mr Vanstone… Yes. I’ll hold… Harold? Joan here. I was hoping that you’d be a dear and look into a little problem for us?… No, surprisingly enough it has nothing to do with Declan. It’s our newest staff member, Charlie Watts. Someone is suing him for damages… Monday afternoon would be great. Harold, you are a doll. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Chapter Eight

Mickey sat in a ward room of Foothills Hospital. Across from him was an elderly man being waited on hand and foot by a woman Mickey assumed was his wife. He imagined that they’d been together for most of their lives—married right after high school, if not before. Two—no, three children, none of whom would take the time to come and visit. It was all supposition of course. What wasn’t, was the fact that the man had badly broken his hip and might never walk again. As soon as he drifted off to sleep, she lost her composure and cried quietly. Mickey knew she wouldn’t let him see that. It would just worry him.

In the bed beside the man with the broken hip was a younger man. Mickey guessed that he was twenty-one or two. Mickey was good at guessing people’s ages. You had to be when you ran a bar. The young man had been in a motorcycle accident. His right leg was badly smashed. It was all bandaged up and suspended slightly above the bed by a steel cable. His family was visiting—father, uncle and a few brothers or cousins. They’d smuggled in some cans of beer and were getting a bit ‘happy’, but not enough to arouse the suspicions of the nursing staff, at least not yet.

The third bed, the one beside Angel, was unoccupied. Mickey hoped it would stay that way.