This is what you might call a refined draft of a very long short story, which hasn’t been approved for mass media consumption just yet.
But I’m sharing this here, because it will be, eventually.
Habeas Corpus
The moment Carla Addison sat in the guest chair, she began talking. A walk-in client, Ms. Addison was in her early 40s. Her hair, bleached the color and consistency of straw, framed a round face with an open, but frantic, expression. Her clothes, ever-so-slightly rumpled, consisted of dark gray slacks, a slightly worn gray cardigan, and a purple knit shell. She reminded me of my second grade teacher.
“You wouldn’t believe what happened to me this morning,” she said. “I woke up in my hotel room next to a stranger with a knife in his chest. I have no idea who he is or how he got there. That’s why I came to see you, Sam. I need a lawyer.”
No kidding, I thought. “Let’s take this one step at a time,” I said, surreptitiously checking her clothes for bloodstains. “I take it you live out of town.”
“I’m here for a business convention,” she said. “It’s at a hotel in Greenbelt.”
Finding no obvious signs of foul play on the woman, I noted that she also wore no make-up. As if I did. “And how did you hear about me?”
“Just at random. I found you in the phone book.”
Lucky me, I thought.
Carla twisted her hands in her lap, staring at them.
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