Trixsters Anonymous
“You have no idea. This guy’s mistress showed up with their two-year-old, clearly pregnant with baby number two. My client had her three children present, and all of them were devastated.”
“Your client gonna get what she deserves?”
“Let’s just say this case is going to pay for our trip to Costa Rica this summer. I’m treating you to some fishing.”
“That’s something to look forward to.”
“Yeah, so, don’t try to leave me with these pompous idiots tonight or I’ll make good on shooting you.”
“If you know they’re idiots, why are we here?”
“It helps with morale around the office. A few drinks once in a while does a lot for camaraderie.” He gives me a grin before turning back to the bar.
Marcus has been my closest friend since seventh grade. We grew up in a small town outside of Charleston. We were known as the rebel rousers among our community, never expected to amount to anything. But we surprised the hell out of everyone. Two weeks after high school graduation, Marcus got in his old pickup truck and headed to Columbia to attend USC. I boarded a bus a few hours later, also headed for Columbia. My destination—United States Army Basic Combat Training. I’d never seen our parents so proud of us on that day.
Throughout the years, our lives took different paths, but we remained close. Marcus went on to graduate law school from USC at the top of his class. He had offers from the top law firms all over South Carolina but decided to come back to Charleston. I spent twelve years in the Army, finishing my career as a Military Police Officer. When I got out, the natural move was to come back to Charleston as well.
I spend my days as a detective in the Charleston Police Department, while Marcus finds himself in the pits of hell as a divorce and fam
ily lawyer.
We get together several times a month, and usually, I can avoid his coworkers. Tonight, I’m not so lucky. They’re not all bad guys, but sometimes, the bullshit is too thick even for me. There’s always one in the crowd who feels the need to boast the loudest with intentions of impressing everyone around him.
As we approach, I recognize many of the men and tip my head in greeting as I motion to the bartender. The perky blonde bounces to me with a smile, her eyes sizing me up before she leans over, resting her tits on the bar.
“What can I get ya?” she drawls out.
“Beer, Budweiser, cold.”
“Comin’ right up.” She makes a show of going to the beer cooler, popping the cap, and strutting the five feet back to me. “Anything else, handsome?”
“Start me a tab.” I lay a credit card on the bar and flash her a smile.
She takes it and winks at me before sashaying to her next customer. I turn back to the group of men and take a long slug, welcoming the cold beer as it slides down my throat.
God, how times have changed. Ten years ago, I’d say fuck these guys and focus on getting the hot little blonde under me by the end of the night.
Now, I rest my back to the bar and listen in as Marcus tells another obnoxious story about our last hunting trip. I have to laugh at his tale, knowing damn good and well he didn’t do half the shit he’s spewing. But watching him is entertaining. That’s where we are completely opposite. His style and charisma have always given him an upper hand in dealing with people, hence why he’s a great divorce lawyer. He can make even a desperate time in someone’s life seem like a positive beginning.
I, on the other hand, prefer the straight shooter method. The Army taught me a lot about myself. I’m methodical and precise, always deciphering the facts, and patience is not one of my strong points. That’s why it’s ironic I became a detective. Some of my cases take weeks and months to close, but somehow, I’ve found a balance.
By the time I’ve downed my second beer, I’m completely relaxed and actually enjoying myself.
“Walker Scott, right?” A guy comes to my side and waves to the bartender for another drink.
“That’s me.”
“John Fields, I’m a new colleague of Marcus’s. He mentioned you were joining us.”
I shake his hand and detect his northern accent immediately. “Nice to meet you. I take it you’re not from around here?”
“I’m a transplant, relocated here a month ago from New Jersey.”
“Long way from home, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely, and couldn’t be happier. My wife’s a southern girl, born and bred in Carolina. She’s been homesick for years. When the opportunity for a transfer came through, I took it. Best move I’ve ever made.”
Years of training embed into my soul, and I can typically tell a scum-sucking asshole from a mile away. This guy is anything but.