Limits of Justice - John Morgan Wilson - Hardcover - 1 ED

One It's never been too difficult bumping into murder in Los Angeles. Not when at least one or two residents get rubbed out every day, and your closest friend is a crime reporter for the Los Angeles Times, and your own background is as darkly stained with violent death as a coroner's report printed with cheap ink. When you've got all that going for you, felony homicide has a way of finding you in the City of Angels even in neighboring West Hollywood, the cozy little community shaped on the map like a submachine gun that I call home sweet home. Sometimes, another case of murder walks right up and knocks on your door, the way it happened one gray March morning when Charlotte Preston came seeking my services. "Benjamin Justice?" She tapped her delicate knuckles three times against the warped wood that framed the dirty screen, a dim figure peering in, trying to find me in the two-room apartment. "Mr. Justice, your friend Alexandra suggested I contact you. I've left several messages." "Yes, I know." She pressed her face closer, squinting, with the fingers of her left hand held across her forehead like a Girl Scout's salute. It was the face of a thirty-something woman, fair in complexion and pretty in a conventional way. The features included a small, pleasant mouth, nicely upturned nose, faint blush to the softly arched cheeks, earnest amber eyes under big lashes that sought me out a little too desperately for my comfort. Over her curling auburn hair, she wore a knit cap of bright chartreuse that tried awfully hard to look jaunty and hip. "Might I come in for a moment?" I sat on the bare floor across the messy room, leaning against the wall, in a veil of shadow undisturbed by the gloomy light outside. "I'm not dressed for visitors. But, then, I rarely am." "My name's Charlotte Preston. I" "Yes, I know." "Of course; the phone messages." "Something about a writing job." I saw her head turn this way and that, as if someone might be listening. "I'd prefer to speak to you more privately." "I haven't showered or shaved." "That's not a problem, Mr. Justice." "I haven't brushed my teeth for a while." "Your friend Alexandra warned me that you might be reluctant to see me." "I stink, Miss Preston." "She told me you've been out of work for some time." "The least of my bad habits." "She said you've been going through a rough period." "Will you do me a favor, Miss Preston?" "If I can." "Go away." She hesitated, as if she might actually turn and depart, as if simple decency compelled her to honor my request. But simple decency rarely wins out against a burning desire for vengeance, which happened to be in Charlotte Preston's heart that bleak morning. Her tone became more businesslike. "I'm prepared to offer you a substantial amount of money." "Substantial is a relative term. Also rather vague. Always prefer the concrete to the vague, the specific to the general. Strunk and White, Elements of Style." Esoteric references to literary manuals failed to dissuade her. "For your work, which I estimate will require less than a year of your time, I'm prepared to offer fifty thousand dollars in cash. Twenty-five thousand immediately as an advance, if you take the job. Twenty-five thousand upon completion of your work. More money later, if things work out." My body remained slack, wedged like a sack of rotting potatoes in the recessed angle of the wall and floor, but my mind was sitting up and paying attention. "There are mansions iWilson, John Morgan is the author of 'Limits of Justice - John Morgan Wilson - Hardcover - 1 ED' with ISBN 9780385491174 and ISBN 0385491174.