Writ of Execution by Perri O'Shaughnessy

Author:Perri O'Shaughnessy
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery fiction, Lake (Calif. and Nev.), Mystery & Detective, Women lawyers, Legal stories, Legal, Fiction, Nina (Fictitious character), Suspense, Women Sleuths, Tahoe, Reilly, Gambling, General
ISBN: 9780440236054
Publisher: DELL
Published: 2002-06-25T03:49:27.476473+00:00

16

PAUL WAS SICK and tired of her shenanigans. She was acting up. She was running wild. She was damn confusing.

To say nothing about her lawyering.

He wasn’t sure he’d sleep with her if she begged him at this point. She had no idea what she was doing to his head, pouring so many conflicting flavors into his mental cocktail.

He brought himself back to the feminine face in front of him. This elegant controlled face with a plumeria blossom tucked behind her ear belonged to the clerk of the Honolulu District Circuit Court, the Honorable Philip Otaru presiding. A flowered umbrella and Korean wall art in the back office beyond betrayed no hint of Judge Otaru’s whereabouts.

“I was just in your courtroom,” Paul said. “Through for the day, right?” The clerk’s name was Betty Watanabe. Betty Watanabe, he thought, be nice to me.

“Oh? When were you there?”

“Two hours ago. But the judge was busy.”

“Of course he is busy. He doesn’t talk about his cases, either. So maybe you should rethink waiting around. It won’t do you any good.”

“But I only have one question.” That got her. She had to ask, and Paul thought for a moment before he said anything. “I have to ask him, Why did he grant a default judgment for eight million dollars against a girl who never even knew she was being sued?”

“Who are you?” Philip Otaru came around the door, behind which he had evidently been listening. He said again in a more polite tone, “Who are you?”

Paul gave him a card, but not right away. First he pulled out his Italian wallet. Out of that he pulled a silver card case. A card came out of that to be inspected first by Paul for crinkles and dirt, before being handed ceremoniously to the judge. Otaru examined it carefully, holding it back from his face.

He needed bifocals, Paul thought. Vanity, thy name is man.

Small droplets of sweat had beaded up on Otaru’s nose, but the pattern was so neat and even, it looked like he had sprayed it with water. He was Asian-American, Japanese-American from his name, tall and aloha-shirted like everybody else, and sweating even in these air-conditioned environs. The Honolulu humidity suddenly rolled through Paul, sending sweat trickling down his back, his armpits, and his forehead.

Otaru was watching him. “It’s good to sweat,” he said. “It’s an adaptation to heat, a cooling mechanism.” Paul wanted to ask Otaru if it was hot hiding behind his door, but there appeared to be a chance, however minuscule, that he would get along with him, so he kept his mouth shut. Otaru beckoned Paul in. Before he went inside Paul said to Betty, “Thanks for your time.”

She kept her head and her eyelashes down. She wasn’t available. No ring, so . . . he indulged his imagination, inventing the usual banal fling with the married boss but then discarding the thought. She acted too intelligent for that.

As soon as the door closed, Otaru said, “I’m waiting.” He didn’t sit down or offer Paul a chair.

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