Gag Order （n.） – Jameson
GAG ORDER (N.):
A JUDGE'S ORDER PROHIBITING THE ATTORNEYS AND THE PARTIES TO A PENDING LAWSUIT OR CRIMINAL PROSECUTION FROM TALKING TO THE MEDIA OR THE PUBLIC ABOUT THE CASE.
JAMESON
Later that night
How the hell did I not see through Lucas before now?
I flip through the official indictment, feeling my blood boil with every page. Nothing here is impossible for me to finesse in a courtroom, but I was counting on playing the family card.
Not the solo-kingpin card.
Circling a line under the attempted murder charges, I write “Very circumstantial. No true evidence.” I manage to make notes on the next four charges before tossing my pen across the room.
I need someone to talk to right now, someone to actually distract me from this nonsense, so I scroll down to Scarlett’s name.
No.
I move past it and call Rachel instead.
“Yes, Jameson?” she answers on the first ring.
“I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Anything,” I say, standing up. “Tell me what’s going on in the news.”
“You can turn on the TV and see for yourself.”
“I’d like to hear it from you.”
The line goes silent.
“Hello?” I ask. “Hello?”
“I’m not Scarlett, Jameson,” she says, sighing. “That’s your person, remember?”
“She’s not a part of my life anymore.”
“So, I don’t need to track her down and find out what she’s been up to for you?”
“I asked Damien Carter to do that, not you.”
“Well, he passed it on to me, so…”
“So…” I mock her last word and begin pacing my floor. “Have you found anything yet?”
“I can only work on one secret mission at a time, Jameson.” She groans. “I’m still not done with the first one you gave me.”
“There’s no time limit on the Scarlett one. It’s just a request.”
“So, I can hold off on finding out where she is for two more weeks?”
“Absolutely not.”
“She’s staying in a Holiday Inn that’s right outside of Santa Monica.”
“Has she landed any roles?”
“Jameson…”
“Just say yes or no.”
“Yes. Yes, she has.”
“Which ones?”
“Seriously?”
“You might as well give me the details.”
“I don’t know all of them, but she’s just been cast in a lead role in Moulin Rouge. As of today, she’s accepted a job at a restaurant that puts on private dinner shows on the weekends—and yes, it pays pretty well.”
“Is she dating anyone?”
“No,” she says. “And even if she was, I would never tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I just managed to get you back to being somewhat normal, so I’ll never give you news that would break you down.”
“So, you’re saying she is dating someone?”
“I’m literally saying she’s not. Call me whenever you want to talk about a case.”
“Do you think she would pick up if I called?”
Beep!
You hung up on me?
Rachel
I saved you from yourself.
Fine. You’re still taking extra precautions while you’re stalking the estate, correct?
Yes. Thank you for sending me an extra security team.
You’re very welcome. Take care of yourself.
I set down my phone and decide to get some fresh air.
Changing into sweatpants and a T-shirt, I grab my keys and step into the hallway.
“Oh, there you are.” Peter Hansel is standing near the elevator, uninvited. Again.
Who the hell keeps letting you in here?
“Are you about to go for a run to clear your mind?” he asks.
Not wanting to take his bait, I avoid looking his way and hit the down button.
“I’m heading to the West Coast for a book tour,” he says. “You know, the one that was inspired by your father’s case.”
I hit the button again.
“I did the best I could representing him,” he says. “I really did.”
“If you felt that way, you wouldn’t be harassing me years later about it.”
“I just know you’ve spent so much time looking at things from your point of view instead of the victims.”
“Nothing of value was lost when Tom Raider was murdered.” I finally look at him. “He deserved far more bullets in his head.”
“Spoken like a son who can’t see any wrong in his father.”
My jaw tightens.
“Do you know what it’s like to lose someone you love, Jameson?” he asks.
“You and I are not on a first-name basis.”
“It’s the type of pain that never heals,” he says. “The type of pain that your father inflicted when he killed Tom Raider and made his wife a widow.”
“My father didn’t kill that man.”
“You can keep believing that if you want to.” He holds out a manila envelope. “Out of fairness—and because I still care about what this has done to your family—here are the victim impact statements the state is presenting at his parole hearing.”
“I don’t need to read any of those.” I leave his hand hanging in the air. “My father is getting a new trial.”
“He’s almost out of appeals, so I doubt it.” He smirks. “But if you do somehow get one, I suggest you brace yourself for your very first loss.”
“From who?”
“You’ll see.”
I roll my eyes.
“You were a subpar lawyer when I was a child and you’re even worse now,” I say. “I hope your fiction books read better than the terrible arguments you used to make in court.”
“Jameson, I need you to listen to me.”
“I left the drawer wide open for you,” I say. “I know you saw it…I just don’t understand why you’re still lying about it.”
“Drawer?” He furrows his brow as the elevator doors glide open. “What drawer are you talking about?”
“At the crime scene.” I can tell he’s playing stupid, but he’s a terrible actor.
“That drawer was sitting in plain sight, and I thought even a half-assed lawyer would’ve been smart enough to see it.”
“Okay, look.” He starts to get on the elevator with me, but I narrow my eyes at him.
“The camera on here is currently broken,” I say. “If you want to risk getting on here with me—of all people—be my guest, but you won’t come out walking.”
“You wouldn’t dare assault me, Jameson.”
I step back, gesturing for him to try me.
“I’ll uh—” He stumbles backward. “I’ll catch the next one.”
“Good choice.”