Page 7 of Barristers & Bones

I let out a bitter laugh. “Who’s going to stop them? For some reason, Klim thinks I’ll have an ‘invaluable experience’ with Fowler and the partners at The Firm. That’s what they call it–The Firm. That or FUCK, Legal.” I rolled my eyes. “I need to research them and figure out what I’m really getting into.” I threw back the shot, and this time I used a lime wedge.

Alexa leaned forward. “Something feels off about this. I have a little time, especially with fall break coming next week. I’ll help you research them.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes, and Sylvie finally leaned back, patting her stomach like she had a food baby in there. “Ezra asked if you two could help with the funeral tomorrow afternoon. It should only take a couple of hours, and he said he'd forego rent this month if you assist with this one and the Bertrand service next week.”

Alexa raised her hand. “Count me in.”

“Me too.” I sometimes wondered if Ezra asked us to work the funerals to give him an excuse to waive our rent.

Sylvie shook her head. “Roman Fowler is really going to pick you up on Monday morning? Las Vegas reminds me of the Wild West, but people with money instead of guns make the rules here.”

Alexa started typing on her phone. “If I’m around Monday morning, I want to meet him.”

“He’s an arrogant prick. I don't know how we’re going to survive an entire week without killing each other.”

Holding up her phone to Sylvie, Alexa pointed to a photo. “I think what Luna meant to say is he’s ahot,arrogant prick… and so are his partners.”

Sylvie’s eyes went wide, and she grabbed Alexa’s phone. “Who’s with him?” she asked.

Alexa tilted her head. “His law partners. Why?”

“I know one of them.” She shook her head and handed the phone back. “The internship is only for six months, right? You can make it six months.”

“I'd rather stick needles through my nipples and just be done with the torture.”

“Holy fuck, girl. Why would you put that image in our heads?” Sylvie shuddered and cupped her breasts protectively. “We’re here anytime you need to vent.”

“Thanks. What would I do without you guys?”

Sylvie picked up her beer. “Well, you wouldn’t live above a mortuary or work funerals on the weekend.”

I raised my beer in return. “Exactly.”

The next afternoon, we dressed in black and manned our usual spots around the funeral chapel. Our job was to direct mourners and family members where to go in hushed, appropriate tones and ensure everything ran smoothly. We wore discreet gold nametags to let people know we were there to help.

Ezra stood next to the bereaved widower in a custom-tailored charcoal suit with subtle pinstripes. He was a tall, trim silver fox. Besides his full head of white hair, he reminded me of Gomez Addams. He often wore pinstripe suits, owned a funeral home, and had a peculiar family.

As the mourners started trickling in, we answered questions and handed out funeral service programs. I wore stylish black boots instead of heels, since we often needed to move around large flower arrangements, furniture, and caskets. When the funeral began, we waited in the office until the services finished, and Ezra would let us know when he needed our help again.

“Let’s pull up Roman Fowler and his law firm and do some cyberstalking while we’re waiting,” Alexa suggested.

“Great idea.” I ran and got our laptops from the apartment, and we spent the next hour trying to find the dirt on Fowler, Underwood, Carter, and Knox, Legal.

“You weren’t kidding. Their acronym is literally F.U.C.K. As in, the actual word fuck,” Alexa realized as she typed on her laptop.

Sylvie raised her eyebrow. “Couldn’t they have rearranged their last names?”

“After meeting Roman, I think it’s intentional. Their firm is also referred to as ‘The Firm.’ It’s so… egotistical.”

Alexa sat up straight and pointed to a website that analyzed Las Vegas businesses and listed their net worth. “Their combined business interests are estimated in… thebillions. Shit,” she breathed. “Maybe their name isn’t that pretentious.”

Sylvie stopped typing and leaned back. “Jesus, these guys are trouble. And not just Roman and Drakos.”

I glanced at her computer. “Who’s Drakos, and what’re you looking at?”

“Social media.” She ignored my first question. “I figured Alexa would check their financials, go for their website, and maybe hack their client database–because she can’t help herself.”

“I plead the Fifth,” Alexa mumbled as she typed away. She was our tech genius.

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