Writers Bloc Twelve by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Henderson Writers Group, Writers Bloc, Las Vegas, Anthology
Publisher: Henderson Writers Group
Published: 2023-05-25T00:00:00+00:00

Evil Eye

Donna DeVargas

Alya Davis, J.D., one of several young attorneys employed at Shiffler and Moore Law Group, followed the corrections officer into the private consultation room at the Clark County Detention Center. Carrying a lukewarm cup of coffee in one hand, and her briefcase in the other, she admired the guard’s muscular physique, wide in the shoulders, tight in the glutes. With his height, her lips would be even with his nipples, provided he turned around and slid off his shirt. A nice image to take home with her.

Nothing else about this place could be called anything remotely pleasant. The odor of desperate humans clung to the walls like paint. The stern faces of the personnel, the menacing weapons the guards carried, the clanging echo of their heavy boots, and the lackluster lighting in the halls, never failed to give Alya a sense of ennui, as if she was also a prisoner, trapped within its walls.

The officer, Cal Jones according to his ID tag, walked around the table and the two metal chairs facing each other across it., inspecting the bolts. Long lashes framed dark blue eyes above his mask. “Sit here. Put your things on the table. I’ll be outside the window watching. If you feel uncomfortable or unsafe, raise your hand and I’ll come in.”

She smiled behind her mask. Even his voice resonated with melody. Is he single? Not that it mattered much to her. “Thank you so much, Cal. Will do.”

Maintaining eye contact with him, she sauntered over to the table with her tummy tucked and a little extra hip sway. If he noticed her subtle attempt at flirting, he gave no sign. His eyes remained impassive, face merely polite.

He’s probably gay like all the really attractive guys.

As she sat in the hard seat, she watched his retreating figure leave through the same door they entered. A long, rectangular mirror to the right of the door stared back at her. Her pink and black patterned mask reflected her eye makeup choices well but not so much with her navy-blue blazer and skirt.

Alya opened her briefcase to review the reports and notes on Ms. Eleni Balaska. The twenty-eight year old was found naked and covered in blood, running through the parking lot of the condo where she lived. Her three-year old daughter, Dimitra, was found dead from multiple stab wounds on the kitchen floor, next to an upturned bowl of Honey-Nut Cheerios. The alleged suspect refused a psychiatric evaluation. The only words she uttered to the detectives indicated her request for a lawyer, and “I didn’t do it. My precious baby,” followed by a long wail of grief.

Ever since she graduated and passed the bar five years ago, Alya handled these public defense attorney cases for the firm. Her superiors insisted she take at least a few cases a month, for the experience. She hated every minute of it and had put feelers out for other law groups hiring. No dice so far, but an associate at her

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