Blood Always Tells by Hilary Davidson (top 10 novels .TXT) 📕

hand. “Come in,” he squeaked, locking up behind Desmond. Up close, the lawyer was even more like a bullfrog than he had appeared in his photo, with pale, protuberant eyes permanently at half-mast. He was bald but for a few stringy strands pulled across his pate; they drooped forlornly as if aware of their failure. He had the leathery hide of a creature who spent too much time in the sun, and the deep lines baked into it resembled a road map. His suit looked as if it had been hitchhiking cross-country on its lonesome.

“This way,” Klepper said, leading Desmond through a corridor lit by a fluorescent bulb, which bled into sepia tones along the hallway. He stopped in front of a door marked with a brass plate etched with thomas w. klepper, juris doctor, harvard, and ushered Desmond inside.

“I have donuts,” Klepper said. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

Klepper wasn’t a tall man, but he was puffy and wide, which made him seem big. His flesh quivered as if he were jelly-filled. His fingers narrowed at the joints, then swelled like sausage links. Dropping into his seat with the force of a boulder, he opened the box, clenched a donut, and devoured it in two bites.

“I’m an emotional eater,” Klepper explained as he chewed. “If I’m under a lot of stress, I have to eat. And I’m under a hell of a lot of stress right now.” He grabbed another donut and looked Desmond over while he bit into it. “You don’t look much like Dominique,” he opined, chewing with his mouth full. “You’re a lot darker.”

Desmond wasn’t in the business of handing out explanations to people. Even if he’d been in the mood to satisfy Klepper’s curiosity, he didn’t accept the term “half-sister.” What did that even mean? Dominique was his flesh and blood. The fact they had different fathers was irrelevant. It always had been.

“Who else knows about Gary Cowan’s kidnapping plan?” Desmond asked.

“No one. He thought about telling the Glamazon in advance, but decided it was too risky. She spills everything to her buddy Sabrina, who puts everything on Twitter. Gary only told me.”

“And Max,” Desmond pointed out. “Obviously.”

“Sure, yeah. He hired Max.”

“Gary found Max through you.” Desmond’s tone brooked no argument.

“Me? What do I have to do with it? Hey, man, you’re stressing me out with your pacing. Can you sit down?” Klepper’s face crunched in disapproval.

Desmond ignored that. “Gary told Dominique you found Max. You saying that’s not true?”

Klepper stopped chewing on his donut. “It’s not like he said, ‘Hey, do you know a goon who can kidnap me?’ okay? I didn’t know what he was up to for a while. He wanted to know if I knew any tough guys who could keep their mouths shut. That was Max.”

“How do you know Max?”

“He’s just a guy, you know?” Klepper gestured at the walls, which groaned under the weight of framed photographs of champion boxers. “I’m a manager as well as a lawyer. I meet a lot of guys.”

Desmond stared at the pictures. “Are any of these Max?”

Klepper snickered. “Hell, no.”

“Well, it’s going to be interesting watching the cops rip into each and every one of these guy’s lives. I hope they’ve got nothing to hide.”

That unsettled Klepper. “This has nothing to do with any of my fighters. Leave them out of it.”

“It’s a natural angle to follow. You’re not going to try telling me you met Max at church, right?”

Klepper dropped his gaze. “Max is a drug dealer.” He glanced at Desmond and looked down again. “I buy pot off him.”

“That’s your big criminal connection?”

“He has other stuff, too. Coke, pills, Ecstasy. Whatever you want, Max can get it for you.” Klepper raised his eyes again. “I don’t do that shit anymore. I’ve got a girlfriend now.”

“Good for you. Look, if this guy was your dealer, you obviously know how to get in touch with him.”

“Believe me, I’ve tried! But he’s always been really careful. Burner phones, that kind of thing. He won’t use email because he says the government is tracking everything. I’m not even sure what his last name is.”

“His other clients must be pissed if they can’t reach him,” Desmond pointed out.

“I guess. But unless you’ve got another solid source, you’ve got no choice but to wait. One thing I’ll say for Max, his drugs are good. He doesn’t cut coke with levamisole or anything like that.” His eyes opened wider. “If you’ve ever had that happen, you’re patient with a dealer who delivers the goods.”

“Do the other lawyers at your firm buy from him?” Desmond asked. He remembered when Dominique was dating a creep who worked on Wall Street. She’d told stories of a certain white-shoe firm that had regular deliveries of blow.

“This isn’t a law firm. I just rent an office in a suite of lawyers,” Klepper explained. “Everyone just kind of keeps to themselves. The receptionists totally hate me. I like to work from home. Mostly, I come here if I have a client meeting. Everyone’s super-impressed by the Empire State Building.”

Desmond looked around the shabby office, doubting that it had bowled anyone over in a while. It reeked of fried pork and dumplings, and there was powdered sugar settling on the desk. The furniture had probably been attractive once, but there were stains and small tears in the upholstery. “The only thing impressing anyone is that you…” Desmond’s voice trailed off. He scanned the walls, looking for Klepper’s law degree, but he couldn’t find it. “Doesn’t it say on your door you’re a Harvard grad?”

Klepper’s eyes popped a little, as if the question were somehow improper. “Yes, I attended Harvard.”

That was the moment when Desmond saw how slippery this character really was. Klepper was the kind of lowlife who thought he could stretch reality in convenient directions and still call it truth. “Where’s your law degree actually from?”

“I don’t see how any of this matters, unless you’re thinking of hiring a lawyer?” Klepper threw that out like a challenge,