December Boys by Joe Clifford Page A

rude reminder that yesterday’s victory was an apparition, and any celebration short-lived.
    DeSouza stood at the gateway, curling a finger for me to follow him into his office. There was no smile this time. My coworkers, so quick to congratulate and praise me just a day earlier, nowshuffled with their heads down, noses in their coffee, careful to look the other way.
    When I stepped inside the boss’s office, the heavy office door closed behind me with an ominous thud.
    “Were you up at the Longmont County Courthouse yesterday afternoon?” The way DeSouza asked meant he already knew the answer.
    “Yeah. I told you I had some loose ends to tie up on the Olisky case.”
    “Was this before or after you phoned in sick with ‘food poisoning’?”
    I wanted to say “before, because that’s how time works, asshole.” But I bit my tongue. I was still hoping that one bullshit sick day wasn’t going to snuff my chances at Concord.
    “I got a phone call this morning, Jay. From the Longmont County Courthouse. Where you were yesterday, asking to review confidential court documents. Harassing a clerk into making unauthorized Xeroxed copies—”
    “That’s not what happened.”
    “As a representative of NorthEastern Insurance, you can’t barge onto state property, demanding—”
    “I didn’t demand anything. I went to the courthouse because Donna Olisky—one of our policyholders—called me in a panic, worried about her son.”
    “I thought I told you to forget about the Olisky case?”
    “Sorry, Andy,” I said, not sorry at all. “Donna Olisky reached out to me, personally, and asked for my help, after the police had picked up her only child. I thought as a ‘representative of NEI’ that it might be in our best interest to go that extra mile for a client.
Especially
one we’d just denied a claim on. Y’know, because, above all, we’re in a service industry.”
    When I said the words aloud I almost bought the excuse myself. Advocating for a client
would’ve
been the right thing to do. But DeSouza didn’t even acknowledge my stalwart defense or generosity.
    “Why were you digging into Judge Roberts’ sentencing history?”
    “I wasn’t. Who told you that? I don’t even know who Judge Roberts is. I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.” I tried to remember if Nicki had given me the name of the judge who’d sentenced Brian to North River. Judge Roberts sounded familiar.
    “I am trying hard to make this work, Jay. I like to believe I’m a fair boss. I may get on an employee when I think they can do better. But I pride myself on being fair. When someone does good work, I let them know.” He made sure he had my attention. “I let you know you did a good job yesterday, didn’t I?”
    How magnanimous.
    “For this to be a successful partnership, though, it has to work the other way too. A two-way street. Respect. Give and take.” He did that annoying thing where he alternated a finger between the two of us as if we were tied together by an invisible, affirming string. “I don’t appreciate being lied to.”
    “I’m not lying to you. I drove up to Longmont because Donna Olisky asked me to check on her son. She was stuck at work. I asked a clerk what happened to Brian. That’s it.”
    “Nicole Parker.”
    “Huh?”
    “The clerk you asked. Her name was Nicole Parker.”
    Of course he meant Nicki. I could feel the setup. Nicki. The courthouse. Those shit-kicker cops. The way Donna Olisky’s phone calls suddenly stopped. Now this. I didn’t know the angle just yet. Only that the hook was in, the fix on, and I was taking the fall.
    I stared at a huge poster behind his desk, the one with the adorable, mewling kitten dangling from a ball of yarn, clinging for dear life. The caption read, “Hang in There.”
    “Your friend Nicole—”
    “We’re not friends. I met the girl yesterday.”
    “Whatever you two are, Nicole was caught photocopying
sealed
court documents. Classified court