Deadly Justice by William Bernhardt

Author:William Bernhardt [Bernhardt, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-4532-7712-6
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2012-09-04T16:51:00+00:00

28

BEN MUTTERED MOST OF the way to Oklahoma City, his hands tightly clenching the steering wheel.

“I got to hand it to you,” Rob said. He was seated in the passenger seat of Ben’s Honda Accord. “Most people would’ve backed off. Crichton made it clear he didn’t think you should go to Oklahoma City, and here you are, doing it anyway.”

“I have a long history of not being smart enough to take a hint,” Ben said.

“Don’t softsoap me, Ben. You’re the kind of guy who believes that if a job is going to be done, it should be done right. You’re going to handle this case properly, regardless of who or what gets in the way. I suppose that’s why Crichton thinks you’re such a super litigator.”

“We’ll see what he thinks after today.”

Ben exited off Northwest Expressway. “What’s the name of the place where we’re meeting King?”

“It’s called Knockers.”

“Knockers? What kind of name is that for a restaurant?”

“Beats me. I’ve never been there. Crichton recommends it to everyone going to Oklahoma City.”

A few minutes later, Ben pulled into the Knockers parking lot. The place had to be popular; almost every spot was taken.

“The food must be sensational to attract a crowd like this,” Ben said. “I wonder if I can get some Buffalo chicken wings. That sounds great.”

“Hope springs eternal.” They climbed out of the car and walked to the restaurant.

Knockers probably did have some sort of decor, but whatever it was, Ben didn’t notice. His eyes, like Rob’s and everyone else’s, were immediately drawn to the staff. The entirely and without exception female staff. The entirely and without exception young blond female staff. Bimbo paradise.

The “hostesses” all wore the same uniform: tight white T-shirts and pink spandex short shorts. The T-shirts were tied, quite snugly, around the midriff. The short shorts started low on the hips and ended high on the thigh. And as was immediately apparent, they weren’t wearing anything else.

“Can we help you?” A nubile young hostess looped her arm around Ben’s, giggling. “Can I show you to a table? A booth? Anything you want, I’ll be happy to provide.”

Ben noticed Rob had acquired a similar escort. “A booth will be fine. We’re meeting a man named Bernie King. He may already be here.”

“Oh, Bernie!” Rob’s escort squealed. “We love Bernie. He’s in the back.”

Ben followed her swaying spandex to a boom in the rear. He marveled at how crowded me restaurant was; every office building in Oklahoma City must be feeding the place. He also noticed that every patron, without exception, was male.

Bernie’s booth was in front of the big screen television. Another T-shirted waitress was standing on his table, a hula hoop revolving around her hips.

“All right, Jenny!” Ben’s escort screamed. “Shake ’em!”

Jenny smiled giddily and accelerated her rhythmic revolutions.

Ben ducked under the hula hoop and tried to introduce himself. “Mr. King? I’m Ben Kincaid. This is Rob Fielder.”

King shifted his glazed gaze slightly. “Happy to meet you.” He returned his attention to the waitress on the table, then sighed.

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