Black Mustard: Justice Read Online Free

that’s like... sexual harassment or something.”
    More staring.
    “Lunch. Shrimp at Duvet’s?” They both liked it there, it was quiet, quick, good, and had free wi-fi, so Loic could text away and they could chat.
    Loic nodded, handed him the Mitchell file, the papers marked with dozens of pink and orange sticky notes, all scribbled on in Loic’s blocky handwriting.
    “You still need this or is it mine?”
    Loic tapped the post-it note on the front cover. “Don’t fuck with my tabs, Justice.”
    “Right. You still need it.”
    He grabbed his wallet, his phone, his iPad. “Come on, fearless wonder, let’s eat. Maybe you can move your lips and pretend to talk this time.”
    The sound of Loic’s hand swatting his ass made him cackle as they headed out.
    ***
    Loic was searching through miles of electronic documents, hunting something -- anything that would help them get Modette off death row. Weird, wasn’t it? He’d never seen himself doing this, but he’d talked to that poor woman -- well, okay, she’d talked, but he was learning about that, about listening.
    About hearing.
    And she’d had things to say. Jesus. How Modette had been so high that she’d thought they were on a carnival ride, medical reports from beatings, vaginal tears, burns. It hurt his feelings, hurt his soul, but that woman had a joke for them every time they came in, had a smile for him, a hug for Justice.
    “I’m not scairt.” She told them. “I ain’t scairt to meet Jesus, but it ain’t right, them telling me when I got to die. ‘Sides, I can help women in here, help them find goodness and real life.”
    She had been helping, too. Teaching classes, taking classes, speaking about the dangers of heroin. It was honorable.
    Loic couldn’t believe someone with a soul like hers could be a cold-blooded murderer.
    A cup of coffee and a paper-wrapped sandwich appeared at his elbow, Justice dropping it off on the way across the office.
    He watched the stocky little banty rooster man move. Every day was a long day, every case got Justice’s attention, and every morning when Loic got in, Justice was here already, pitch black coffee in one hand, cigarette in another, stubby fingers clacking on the keyboard, answering the last few hours emails, sending editorials to some poor newspaper, writing another senator.
    They’d discovered that they worked together like a dream, too. Justice was a bulldog -- refusing to stay down, no matter how many times the law or the conservatives or the big money knocked him down. Justice believed in his clients -- each and every one of them -- and was willing to bleed for them. Loic had never known a man like that before, and he was fairly sure he never would again. When he added in his own skills -- research, organization, and a not-altogether surprising skill for spying, they were an amazing team.
    Loic was more than a little bit in love -- if not with the man’s body, then with the man’s drive.
    He knew Justice was like him -- the man was the go-to guy for the Alliance here -- and he thought Justice would be interested, if he made the offer, but the fact was, Loic wanted this job, needed the work way worse than he needed a piece of ass.
    Justice turned, looked back at him, saddlebags under the man’s eyes. “You good, cher?”
    He nodded, that little endearment making his mouth dry. He was. Justice needed a nap, though. He could tell.
    “Excellent. It’s catfish. I’m going to get my shit ready for court in the morning.”
    He lifted his hand, made the A-Okay sign. He’d be here.
    Watching.
    Working.
    Wishing.
    ***
    Justice sat on the balcony of his apartment, staring out at the lights, the Friday night folks coming home from work, going out to supper. The heat was weighing on him, the humidity in the air so thick that showering just made it worse. On a normal night, he could smell the spice from Zyedco’s on the corner, smell the river like a low-level, weirdly comforting funk that permeated