Clint Zéphyr Chevalier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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dreamlikenewyork2018-05-12 11:47 pm
privateinvestigations) wrote in dreamlikenewyork2018-05-12 11:47 pm
"Mother, we've got murder on our hands."
Who: Clint Chevalier and Mark Campbell
What: When shit gets real again
Where: Campbell & Associates HQ, NYC
When: Serious-fucking-Business-O'Clock
Mark was sitting at his desk with a wireless telephone headset in his ear, massaging his forehead as he listened to one of his long-term clients rambling on about wanting to sue some wanker or another. It was always something. If he wasn’t a well-paying client, he would’ve palmed him off to one of his juniors, like poor Ashley or Dani. But why ruin their day too? He had stopped taking notes on his legal pad around ten minutes ago and recorded the conversation instead. He could get one of their paralegals to listen over to it and pluck out all the relevant information.
There was a knock at his office door and his Executive Assistant came in to flag him. He put the phone call on mute. She normally only interrupted his conference calls if it was something important or urgent. That made him nervous considering how up and down Justin was. Justin had come home from work the night before in an autopilot state. Didn’t say a word to anyone and when Sasha came out of the shower, found Justin in bed crashed out fully-clothed. It was rare for Justin to not shower after he performed. He tended to like to wash away the character and leave it back on the stage. Mark knew something was off, but Justin hadn’t opened up about it yet. Sasha confirmed there was ‘something’ but he ended up coming down with a bad migraine when they planned to talk about it. Justin hadn’t mentioned it since. These were the days that having a disabled kid was such a fight. He wanted to be able to pull Justin into a hug, tell him it would all be okay, and beg him to talk about it. However, instead of letting him do that, Justin skipped breakfast and went for a personal-training session early, and was gone before Mark came out to the kitchen.
Wendy stepped aside and revealed Clint standing in the doorway. “Mr Chevalier would like a word. He said it’s important. He preferred to wait,” she added pointedly and gave Clint a knowing glance. She knew Clint well, for reasons she didn’t need - or want - to know. If they were rolling with the above-board, Clint often consulted with Mark on cases anyway. Still, she knew Clint’s practices were far from above-board, and even if she was nearing fifty, it hadn’t stopped Clint hitting on her over the years when he was sweet-talking his way into Mark’s schedule at short notice.
Coming from Clint, ‘important’ would always be important. Clint was a client of Mark’s for his legal matters but it was usually business of another sort that had him dropping in unannounced. Mark nodded and interrupted his client, promising someone would call him back to arrange a meeting about his proposed court action. He took headset from his ear and tossed it onto his desk. “What’s going on?”
Clint didn’t say a word until Wendy left and closed the door behind her. Once she was gone, he flicked the lock on Mark’s door. He didn’t need anyone accidentally walking in on this conversation. He sauntered over to Mark’s desk, spun one of the client chairs around so he could straddle it and rest his arms on the back of it. “Your kid’s asked me to put a hit out on someone. Offered me half a mil to do it, then said he would double it if I did it within a few days, but he doesn’t want to know anything more about it.” He took some papers from the pocket of his leather jack and handed them over to Mark. “Text messages he sent me. Nothing there gives away what he’s asked, but you’re his dad, so I know you’ll be able to translate his tone when setting up a meeting with me. He came to see me at home last night. The time he arrived, I think he must’ve ditched work.”
Mark felt that familiar cold sensation wash over him, like a chill and the urge to puke when you were coming down with the flu. He had a look at the printed messages, trying to hold his shit together until he had more information. Justin’s texts appeared flat and basic, but he was obviously insistent about wanting to talk to Clint. “Who?”
“His fucking mother in prison. She’s been sending him letters from the inside, using another inmate’s name to get them to him. Guess she figured out you’d be having all his shit intercepted before it got to him, if she was too much of a dumb cunt to heed the direct warnings she would’ve been given by the judge and officers to leave him the fuck alone, or risk increasing her sentence. There’d be someone on the inside who explained to her how the fame shit works. It ain’t gonna take a genius to work out that you’d have him protected to all fucking hell. He showed me a couple of the letters, but wouldn’t hand ‘em over. She’s calling herself Janine Merryweather. I did a bit digging around, got Euan onto it. It’s another inmate in the slammer with her but one that ain’t got any child abuse charges against her, but Justin confirmed that it’s his cunt mother’s handwriting. She’s using another inmate to get letters through to him. Wants to see him. I couldn’t get the letters off him, bud. Wasn’t going to fucking traumatised the poor kid demanding them either. Eu’s had it set-up that any letter from her or this other cunt are intercepted. Justin’s in his jurisdiction, so he’s got the swing. I know you’re close to your kid though, and having one of my own now, I get the scary overprotective father shit. Anyone hurts my fucking flesh and blood, I’d friggen scalp ‘em and choke them to death on their own innards. I think he’s scared, but he doesn’t wanna risk anything happening to you. That’s probably why he ain’t told you, why he came to me to take care of it,” Clint guessed and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Everything certainly looked different these days, now he was a father himself. He knew he hadn’t changed who he was, but he changed how he saw the world. People probably thought it made him softer. In reality, it made him so much harder. He was only soft with the people who deserved it now. “There’s something else, though. I just don’t wanna jump to no conclusions.”
Mark had to brace his hands on the surface of his desk and focus on taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Any way he responded to this, short of going over there and cutting the bitch’s throat himself, wouldn’t be enough. He bit the inside of his lip until he drew blood and he was soon gripping the edge of his desk to the point his knuckles were so white, he could feel tingling in is fingertips. It was the only thing stopping him getting up, speeding directly to the prison and going in to wring her fucking neck with his bear hands. “What the fuck else can there be, for fuck’s sake? I need half an hour and I can have her orders to get her case reheard for breaking her sentence conditions. What the fuck else can you give me to stop me?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck on a cockstick what you do to her. But the thing that’s gonna stop you is your kid. Because you gotta pause here and think how this is gonna affect him, including how you respond to it. ‘Cause I can get this job done without involving either of you, and that’s what I plan to do. But I need time to figure out how far she’s taken it so nothing more of it hits your kid before her corpse is fucking rottin in the ground. So, just hear me the fuck out before you lose your shit. I think he’s using. I’m not gonna profess to know his medical regimen or any of that shit, let alone what his meds do to him, but I’ve dealt with enough people in my time to know the difference between a prescription drug otherwise. He was high. Or really manic. Either way, you gotta do something, and getting to her ain’t the priority. You gotta do your dad thing, and let me take care of the rest. But… and you ain’t gonna like this but…” Clint scratched his temple with his thumbnail. “She may have told him something else in those letters. Something about her, about his past, about shit you’re not privy to. I know your kid pretty well these days, and he’s tough. Fucking strong as all shit when he needs to be. He didn’t just burn the letters and get on with his shit. Why not? Is he in safe hands at the moment? Did you see him last night or this morning? Did anyone?”
Mark was just staring at Clint by this point. His jaw was hard-set and he was still gripping the edge of the desk. Until he picked up the phone on his desk and dialled in Sasha’s number quickly. They had an arrangement that if Mark called Sasha during his school day and it was something to do with Justin, he would call from his desk phone so Sasha would know it was an important phone call. Otherwise, Mark just used his cell phone. Within two rings, Sasha picked up. Mark put him on speaker phone so Clint could hear.
“Mark? Is Justin okay?”
“Did you see Jus this morning, mate? Speak to him or interact with him before you went to school?” Mark asked, checking his cell phone for any new messages, even if it had been on his desk beside him the whole time and had been silent the whole time.
“I was still in bed and barely awake when he left. Why? What’s happened?”
Mark had to tread carefully or he knew Sash would freak out ASAP if there was even the slightest indication he should be. “Nothing’s happened. Have you talked to him through the day on the phone or by text?”
“Yeah, he called me at lunch time after his press interview this morning. He said it went fine. Mark, do I need to be freaking out here? Why are you calling me from your desk? His last text was only about fifteen minutes ago. He’s training with Tori. Tori shot me a message too, he said Justin’s working him harder than a mule.”
Mark met Clint’s gaze, trying to figure out what his next move should be. The hard part was that Justin could be high-functioning until suddenly - abruptly - he wasn’t and deteriorated rapidly. “Someone who chatted to him yesterday was just concerned he was pretty manic. He wasn’t answering my texts, so I wanted to double-check. He probably just knows I’m being an annoying overprotective dad.”
“He is, though. Manic again, I mean. He was up listening to music and scribbling in his journal when I got up for a pee around two. We’re hanging out with the squad tonight while you and Gen are in Princeton. We’re overdue. Z’s out of hospital and wants to come for a few hours. Just music, pizza, that sort of thing. Thought it’d be a nice way for everyone to get to know Tori and Keegan. Jus usually relaxes when we have them, you know?”
Princeton. Fuck. Mark was a keynote speaker at a massive conference there. If he had to pull out because his kid was sick, event organisers would understand because everyone in that room would be aware he was Justin Campbell’s father. But if he did that, and he was just doing out of a knee-jerk reaction, it could piss Justin off. Pissing him off when he was manic could mean shit hit the fan quickly. Justin hated when his illness impacted on everyone else’s life, especially when it was unnecessary and he was coping relatively well, all things considered. But it was only overnight. Alec lived in the same building and Kade was over from Sydney staying with him too. He didn’t want to trigger a knock-on effect of overprotectiveness just yet. Even if, coming from Clint, the concerns were valid and he felt sick in the guts with worry. “Okay,” he soon relented with Sash, not wanting to keep him away from classes too long. “But listen, if anything seems too off with him, promise you’ll call in back-up. Alec and Kade, Sam, James, Ari, Michael and Paris, Ali and Andrew. Anyone you need. We just have to tread carefully.”
“I know. I promise, I will. I’m worried too, but he was okay at the Met Gala and everything. I think he’s just struggling at the moment.” There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Mark, there’s… um, Justin told me his mom has been writing him letters at the theatre. He said it was her birthday soon. He’s only ever mentioned it to me once and he said he hadn’t opened them, but I think it’s messing with his head. He’s been cycling ever since. I’m worried he’s opened them, something bad is in there, but he hasn’t said anything to anyone. I’m not going to say I think I should be the one. There’s a big chance I wouldn’t be, because he’s always worried about being a burden. But someone? I thought maybe Gabe, how agitated he was after therapy when the thing with James and Kat happened, but I just don’t know...”
Mark met Clint’s gaze over the desk. “I didn’t know that, mate. He hasn’t said anything to me. But how about we all sit down with him when we get back from Princeton and ask him about it? Legally, she’s not allowed to contact him in anyway. She’s breaching her sentence.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I mean, I wanted to give him the space he needed and didn’t want to assume he wasn’t coping well with it, but the more it seemed like he hadn’t said anything, the more I’ve been getting worried. He’s distant and distracted. Me getting that bad migraine, I’m worried that’s why he’s not talking to me about it, because he’ll be scared I’ll have another one.”
“Just have a nice time with your mates tonight, buddy. We’ll intercept him when we get back and at least remind him that he should be talking to someone if he’s upset about it. We know his thought processes are complex, and none of us can know why he responds to things how he does. Give me a call if anything changes, okay?” Mark said and after a quick goodbye, ended the call. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Fucking hell. What the fuck has she said in those letters to him?”
“So, cards on the fucking table, buddy. Something’s gotta happen, but I ain’t the kid’s dad. What do you want me to do?” Clint asked, watching Mark closely. “I don’t want your kid’s money, either way. I can get her gone, you only need to give me the word. I got it done to the cunt who tried to kill Lincoln, and I’ll fucking do it again. Especially someone who is hurting a fucking kid who’s already fucked up enough as it is. But you get her gone, she takes all her shit with her. You might not ever get outta your kid what she’s said. We could bait her into spilling her fucking guts. She’s a few smokes short of a pack as it is. The fucking ice woulda done that to her.”
Mark got up and started pacing the length of his office, up and down in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline. There were countless options he could take here, but he didn’t fucking know which was the best move for Justin. Maybe the fact he was asking Clint to off his biological mother was proof he needed her removed from his life, his head, his everything once and for all. He was torn between wanting to know all the information he could, or just alleviating the pressure from Justin as quickly as possible. “Hold off on it. I need to try to get him to tell me what’s in those letters. Sasha might have better luck, but whatever the fucking case, we need to try. Once he finally relinquishes, we usually get a breakthrough. It’s just never fucking easy to get there. Until we do, it’s all locked up in his head, makes him feel like he’s trapped in a horror prison. Sasha would’ve brought the letters up before now if Justin had let anything slip about what was in them. Which makes me think he’s only just opened them, but he might’ve been reading them for awhile. His fanmail is all monitored. This got through somehow, so it was probably only letters. Packages are opened. He doesn’t like having anything come at him that’ll freak him out. He’s not thinking long-term, he’s thinking a quick, knee-jerk way to solve the problem of her getting into his head, and seeping through his mind like toxic poison. That’s what happens to him. His mind gets messed up, and he tries to shut it all off. Whether it’s self-harm, self-medication, feeling suicidal. It has all pointed back to him trying to shut out what’s haunting his mind. But whatever it is could just be his bipolar exacerbated. I need to talk with Alec, see what he suggests. I think, just let him have the time with his pals tonight. Sash will watch him closely. Then I’ll make the next move once I’m back from Princeton. There’s always a chance he might wake up tomorrow feeling fine. That’s what his cycling can be, but it’s unlikely if that fucking cunt has been sending him something that’s triggering his trauma. That could lead to another attempt or a psychotic episode. I should probably just shove him in the car and drive him up to Four Winds, but that could prolong the inevitable. I feel like we should just get her fucking out of the picture.”
Clint scrunched his face up, assessing everything Mark was saying. He needed a smoke. It’s a shame Mark was on the Serious Attorney Bitch clock or he would’ve suggested they go up to the roof for a quick puff. He knew Mark could indulge in a social setting sometimes. “Do you even remember fucking the crazy cunt in college, dude? I’m starting to wonder if she roofied you. How’d she even fucking get into Ivy League like you? Still, you hadn’t done it, you wouldn’t have your kid, so silver linings and all that shit. She got, what, eighteen years in the slammer? He’s only gonna be early thirties if she gets out early on parole. Parental rights severed or not, she still might try to hunt him down if she gets out and he’s still alive.”
“No, I don’t fucking remember fucking her. At all. She wasn’t in college with me. She was a relative of a friend who was always at the biggest parties around campus. And honestly, the drugs were fast and hard, so I might’ve been high. Wouldn’t put it past her to drug me. I did so many chicks when I was younger, they’re just all a blur, mate. I don’t actually remember her, and if Jus hadn’t looked so much like when he rocked up, I would never have believed it. I boozed a lot in school, and was high almost as often. It was the only way I made it through law school because I was a bit fucked in the head back then, as we now know. I don’t labour the point on how I made him. It’s not fair to him, it’s not his fault he was conceived in a fucked up situation. But I’m not naive enough to think how he is today could be factored down to my lifestyle back then on some level. But if it was, then his cunt mother was a hundred times worse than I was. It’s pure luck he’s functional at all. You spoke to the chick who was apparently her best friend back when when I got you to investigate her for the trial. She was trashed right through the pregnancy and the only reason she didn’t abort was because she thought I was loaded because I had rich parents. I don’t fucking care about justice anymore, I just want my kid to have peace. He’s been to hell and back too many times.” Mark actually felt physically sick, here. The club sandwich he had at a business lunch a couple of hours ago was churning around in his guts. Somehow, he had to get his shit together now and deliver a flawless keynote speech in Princeton later that night too. He stopped by the window, looking out without seeing anything. That crap sensation he was close to helpless tears was hitting him, the one that usually only came when it felt like he was either letting Justin down or couldn’t take away his pain.
Clint was playing with Mark’s stapler, but was still watching him. He tossed it back and forth between his hands. With his own son still an infant, it was impossible to know how Mark was feeling. Clint didn’t know how Zephyr would grow up. Angela had a terrifyingly complicated birth, and although the kid seemed to be hitting all his expected milestones, he could have issues as he got older. Any parent might end up with a mentally ill kid. Clint wasn’t sure he would be as tough and strong as Mark was battling it. Clint had seen Justin in his absolute worst state - psychotic and suicidal. He probably still shouldn’t have a pulse, but he did. And he was really loved. It was still nauseating regardless to think of the awful shit he was subjected to as a child. It was no wonder his head was fucked up, but he still remained a good kid. He wasn’t an asshole, which was a massive achievement. “I can have it taken care of for you in a fucking heartbeat, bud. I can completely take it out of your hands.”
Mark narrowed his eyes a little, thinking on what Clint just said. He let the words filter into his mind and process there for a few lingering moments, eyes still out the window and trying to utilise the cityscape to stay focused. He shook his head. “No, just give me a few days. I want to try to ascertain what was in those letters. Depending on that, I’ll figure out what the next step is. Whether I want to drag it through another court case or just… have it extinguished once and for all. I want it done, mate. Don’t get me wrong. But I need to figure out that, if it’s done in this way, my kid won’t carry it like another demon on his back for the rest of his life. I know you get what I mean with that.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at Clint, meeting his gaze.
Clint offered a succinct nod. “Gotcha.” He stood, tossing the stapler back onto the desk. “Well, you know my number, bud. If you change your mind or you wanna fastrack anything, just give me a shout and I’ll have it done. But no fucking money is gonna change hands. I ain’t robbing any kid to put the world right. He shouldn’t have to pay for fucking peace. Make sure Sash has my number. If they need any help while you’re outta town, I can be there in minutes. I know you need as many hands on deck when your kid ain’t doing so well. Sorry I couldn’t have been the bearer of fucking fuzzy warm news instead, dude.”
Mark came over and shook Clint’s hand. “Thanks, though. As close as I am to my son, he still bears that horrible curse of feeling like he’s a fucking burden, which makes him teeter in a dangerous zone when shit hits the fan. I just hope he doesn’t have to self-destruct again before he can get better this time. Just… maybe do some digging in case things need to proceed. On the D-L.”
“Will do, dude. Call me, alright? Or any of us. We’re all well-versed in dealing with fucking cunts.” Clint gave Mark a companionable pat on the back, and then offered Wendy another smirk at here desk when he passed by as he left. Best to keep up the appearance no big deal was going down. No one had to be involved who wasn’t absolutely essentially involved.
LOG, COMPLETE
What: When shit gets real again
Where: Campbell & Associates HQ, NYC
When: Serious-fucking-Business-O'Clock
Mark was sitting at his desk with a wireless telephone headset in his ear, massaging his forehead as he listened to one of his long-term clients rambling on about wanting to sue some wanker or another. It was always something. If he wasn’t a well-paying client, he would’ve palmed him off to one of his juniors, like poor Ashley or Dani. But why ruin their day too? He had stopped taking notes on his legal pad around ten minutes ago and recorded the conversation instead. He could get one of their paralegals to listen over to it and pluck out all the relevant information.
There was a knock at his office door and his Executive Assistant came in to flag him. He put the phone call on mute. She normally only interrupted his conference calls if it was something important or urgent. That made him nervous considering how up and down Justin was. Justin had come home from work the night before in an autopilot state. Didn’t say a word to anyone and when Sasha came out of the shower, found Justin in bed crashed out fully-clothed. It was rare for Justin to not shower after he performed. He tended to like to wash away the character and leave it back on the stage. Mark knew something was off, but Justin hadn’t opened up about it yet. Sasha confirmed there was ‘something’ but he ended up coming down with a bad migraine when they planned to talk about it. Justin hadn’t mentioned it since. These were the days that having a disabled kid was such a fight. He wanted to be able to pull Justin into a hug, tell him it would all be okay, and beg him to talk about it. However, instead of letting him do that, Justin skipped breakfast and went for a personal-training session early, and was gone before Mark came out to the kitchen.
Wendy stepped aside and revealed Clint standing in the doorway. “Mr Chevalier would like a word. He said it’s important. He preferred to wait,” she added pointedly and gave Clint a knowing glance. She knew Clint well, for reasons she didn’t need - or want - to know. If they were rolling with the above-board, Clint often consulted with Mark on cases anyway. Still, she knew Clint’s practices were far from above-board, and even if she was nearing fifty, it hadn’t stopped Clint hitting on her over the years when he was sweet-talking his way into Mark’s schedule at short notice.
Coming from Clint, ‘important’ would always be important. Clint was a client of Mark’s for his legal matters but it was usually business of another sort that had him dropping in unannounced. Mark nodded and interrupted his client, promising someone would call him back to arrange a meeting about his proposed court action. He took headset from his ear and tossed it onto his desk. “What’s going on?”
Clint didn’t say a word until Wendy left and closed the door behind her. Once she was gone, he flicked the lock on Mark’s door. He didn’t need anyone accidentally walking in on this conversation. He sauntered over to Mark’s desk, spun one of the client chairs around so he could straddle it and rest his arms on the back of it. “Your kid’s asked me to put a hit out on someone. Offered me half a mil to do it, then said he would double it if I did it within a few days, but he doesn’t want to know anything more about it.” He took some papers from the pocket of his leather jack and handed them over to Mark. “Text messages he sent me. Nothing there gives away what he’s asked, but you’re his dad, so I know you’ll be able to translate his tone when setting up a meeting with me. He came to see me at home last night. The time he arrived, I think he must’ve ditched work.”
Mark felt that familiar cold sensation wash over him, like a chill and the urge to puke when you were coming down with the flu. He had a look at the printed messages, trying to hold his shit together until he had more information. Justin’s texts appeared flat and basic, but he was obviously insistent about wanting to talk to Clint. “Who?”
“His fucking mother in prison. She’s been sending him letters from the inside, using another inmate’s name to get them to him. Guess she figured out you’d be having all his shit intercepted before it got to him, if she was too much of a dumb cunt to heed the direct warnings she would’ve been given by the judge and officers to leave him the fuck alone, or risk increasing her sentence. There’d be someone on the inside who explained to her how the fame shit works. It ain’t gonna take a genius to work out that you’d have him protected to all fucking hell. He showed me a couple of the letters, but wouldn’t hand ‘em over. She’s calling herself Janine Merryweather. I did a bit digging around, got Euan onto it. It’s another inmate in the slammer with her but one that ain’t got any child abuse charges against her, but Justin confirmed that it’s his cunt mother’s handwriting. She’s using another inmate to get letters through to him. Wants to see him. I couldn’t get the letters off him, bud. Wasn’t going to fucking traumatised the poor kid demanding them either. Eu’s had it set-up that any letter from her or this other cunt are intercepted. Justin’s in his jurisdiction, so he’s got the swing. I know you’re close to your kid though, and having one of my own now, I get the scary overprotective father shit. Anyone hurts my fucking flesh and blood, I’d friggen scalp ‘em and choke them to death on their own innards. I think he’s scared, but he doesn’t wanna risk anything happening to you. That’s probably why he ain’t told you, why he came to me to take care of it,” Clint guessed and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Everything certainly looked different these days, now he was a father himself. He knew he hadn’t changed who he was, but he changed how he saw the world. People probably thought it made him softer. In reality, it made him so much harder. He was only soft with the people who deserved it now. “There’s something else, though. I just don’t wanna jump to no conclusions.”
Mark had to brace his hands on the surface of his desk and focus on taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Any way he responded to this, short of going over there and cutting the bitch’s throat himself, wouldn’t be enough. He bit the inside of his lip until he drew blood and he was soon gripping the edge of his desk to the point his knuckles were so white, he could feel tingling in is fingertips. It was the only thing stopping him getting up, speeding directly to the prison and going in to wring her fucking neck with his bear hands. “What the fuck else can there be, for fuck’s sake? I need half an hour and I can have her orders to get her case reheard for breaking her sentence conditions. What the fuck else can you give me to stop me?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck on a cockstick what you do to her. But the thing that’s gonna stop you is your kid. Because you gotta pause here and think how this is gonna affect him, including how you respond to it. ‘Cause I can get this job done without involving either of you, and that’s what I plan to do. But I need time to figure out how far she’s taken it so nothing more of it hits your kid before her corpse is fucking rottin in the ground. So, just hear me the fuck out before you lose your shit. I think he’s using. I’m not gonna profess to know his medical regimen or any of that shit, let alone what his meds do to him, but I’ve dealt with enough people in my time to know the difference between a prescription drug otherwise. He was high. Or really manic. Either way, you gotta do something, and getting to her ain’t the priority. You gotta do your dad thing, and let me take care of the rest. But… and you ain’t gonna like this but…” Clint scratched his temple with his thumbnail. “She may have told him something else in those letters. Something about her, about his past, about shit you’re not privy to. I know your kid pretty well these days, and he’s tough. Fucking strong as all shit when he needs to be. He didn’t just burn the letters and get on with his shit. Why not? Is he in safe hands at the moment? Did you see him last night or this morning? Did anyone?”
Mark was just staring at Clint by this point. His jaw was hard-set and he was still gripping the edge of the desk. Until he picked up the phone on his desk and dialled in Sasha’s number quickly. They had an arrangement that if Mark called Sasha during his school day and it was something to do with Justin, he would call from his desk phone so Sasha would know it was an important phone call. Otherwise, Mark just used his cell phone. Within two rings, Sasha picked up. Mark put him on speaker phone so Clint could hear.
“Mark? Is Justin okay?”
“Did you see Jus this morning, mate? Speak to him or interact with him before you went to school?” Mark asked, checking his cell phone for any new messages, even if it had been on his desk beside him the whole time and had been silent the whole time.
“I was still in bed and barely awake when he left. Why? What’s happened?”
Mark had to tread carefully or he knew Sash would freak out ASAP if there was even the slightest indication he should be. “Nothing’s happened. Have you talked to him through the day on the phone or by text?”
“Yeah, he called me at lunch time after his press interview this morning. He said it went fine. Mark, do I need to be freaking out here? Why are you calling me from your desk? His last text was only about fifteen minutes ago. He’s training with Tori. Tori shot me a message too, he said Justin’s working him harder than a mule.”
Mark met Clint’s gaze, trying to figure out what his next move should be. The hard part was that Justin could be high-functioning until suddenly - abruptly - he wasn’t and deteriorated rapidly. “Someone who chatted to him yesterday was just concerned he was pretty manic. He wasn’t answering my texts, so I wanted to double-check. He probably just knows I’m being an annoying overprotective dad.”
“He is, though. Manic again, I mean. He was up listening to music and scribbling in his journal when I got up for a pee around two. We’re hanging out with the squad tonight while you and Gen are in Princeton. We’re overdue. Z’s out of hospital and wants to come for a few hours. Just music, pizza, that sort of thing. Thought it’d be a nice way for everyone to get to know Tori and Keegan. Jus usually relaxes when we have them, you know?”
Princeton. Fuck. Mark was a keynote speaker at a massive conference there. If he had to pull out because his kid was sick, event organisers would understand because everyone in that room would be aware he was Justin Campbell’s father. But if he did that, and he was just doing out of a knee-jerk reaction, it could piss Justin off. Pissing him off when he was manic could mean shit hit the fan quickly. Justin hated when his illness impacted on everyone else’s life, especially when it was unnecessary and he was coping relatively well, all things considered. But it was only overnight. Alec lived in the same building and Kade was over from Sydney staying with him too. He didn’t want to trigger a knock-on effect of overprotectiveness just yet. Even if, coming from Clint, the concerns were valid and he felt sick in the guts with worry. “Okay,” he soon relented with Sash, not wanting to keep him away from classes too long. “But listen, if anything seems too off with him, promise you’ll call in back-up. Alec and Kade, Sam, James, Ari, Michael and Paris, Ali and Andrew. Anyone you need. We just have to tread carefully.”
“I know. I promise, I will. I’m worried too, but he was okay at the Met Gala and everything. I think he’s just struggling at the moment.” There was a long pause at the other end of the line. “Mark, there’s… um, Justin told me his mom has been writing him letters at the theatre. He said it was her birthday soon. He’s only ever mentioned it to me once and he said he hadn’t opened them, but I think it’s messing with his head. He’s been cycling ever since. I’m worried he’s opened them, something bad is in there, but he hasn’t said anything to anyone. I’m not going to say I think I should be the one. There’s a big chance I wouldn’t be, because he’s always worried about being a burden. But someone? I thought maybe Gabe, how agitated he was after therapy when the thing with James and Kat happened, but I just don’t know...”
Mark met Clint’s gaze over the desk. “I didn’t know that, mate. He hasn’t said anything to me. But how about we all sit down with him when we get back from Princeton and ask him about it? Legally, she’s not allowed to contact him in anyway. She’s breaching her sentence.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. I mean, I wanted to give him the space he needed and didn’t want to assume he wasn’t coping well with it, but the more it seemed like he hadn’t said anything, the more I’ve been getting worried. He’s distant and distracted. Me getting that bad migraine, I’m worried that’s why he’s not talking to me about it, because he’ll be scared I’ll have another one.”
“Just have a nice time with your mates tonight, buddy. We’ll intercept him when we get back and at least remind him that he should be talking to someone if he’s upset about it. We know his thought processes are complex, and none of us can know why he responds to things how he does. Give me a call if anything changes, okay?” Mark said and after a quick goodbye, ended the call. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Fucking hell. What the fuck has she said in those letters to him?”
“So, cards on the fucking table, buddy. Something’s gotta happen, but I ain’t the kid’s dad. What do you want me to do?” Clint asked, watching Mark closely. “I don’t want your kid’s money, either way. I can get her gone, you only need to give me the word. I got it done to the cunt who tried to kill Lincoln, and I’ll fucking do it again. Especially someone who is hurting a fucking kid who’s already fucked up enough as it is. But you get her gone, she takes all her shit with her. You might not ever get outta your kid what she’s said. We could bait her into spilling her fucking guts. She’s a few smokes short of a pack as it is. The fucking ice woulda done that to her.”
Mark got up and started pacing the length of his office, up and down in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the New York skyline. There were countless options he could take here, but he didn’t fucking know which was the best move for Justin. Maybe the fact he was asking Clint to off his biological mother was proof he needed her removed from his life, his head, his everything once and for all. He was torn between wanting to know all the information he could, or just alleviating the pressure from Justin as quickly as possible. “Hold off on it. I need to try to get him to tell me what’s in those letters. Sasha might have better luck, but whatever the fucking case, we need to try. Once he finally relinquishes, we usually get a breakthrough. It’s just never fucking easy to get there. Until we do, it’s all locked up in his head, makes him feel like he’s trapped in a horror prison. Sasha would’ve brought the letters up before now if Justin had let anything slip about what was in them. Which makes me think he’s only just opened them, but he might’ve been reading them for awhile. His fanmail is all monitored. This got through somehow, so it was probably only letters. Packages are opened. He doesn’t like having anything come at him that’ll freak him out. He’s not thinking long-term, he’s thinking a quick, knee-jerk way to solve the problem of her getting into his head, and seeping through his mind like toxic poison. That’s what happens to him. His mind gets messed up, and he tries to shut it all off. Whether it’s self-harm, self-medication, feeling suicidal. It has all pointed back to him trying to shut out what’s haunting his mind. But whatever it is could just be his bipolar exacerbated. I need to talk with Alec, see what he suggests. I think, just let him have the time with his pals tonight. Sash will watch him closely. Then I’ll make the next move once I’m back from Princeton. There’s always a chance he might wake up tomorrow feeling fine. That’s what his cycling can be, but it’s unlikely if that fucking cunt has been sending him something that’s triggering his trauma. That could lead to another attempt or a psychotic episode. I should probably just shove him in the car and drive him up to Four Winds, but that could prolong the inevitable. I feel like we should just get her fucking out of the picture.”
Clint scrunched his face up, assessing everything Mark was saying. He needed a smoke. It’s a shame Mark was on the Serious Attorney Bitch clock or he would’ve suggested they go up to the roof for a quick puff. He knew Mark could indulge in a social setting sometimes. “Do you even remember fucking the crazy cunt in college, dude? I’m starting to wonder if she roofied you. How’d she even fucking get into Ivy League like you? Still, you hadn’t done it, you wouldn’t have your kid, so silver linings and all that shit. She got, what, eighteen years in the slammer? He’s only gonna be early thirties if she gets out early on parole. Parental rights severed or not, she still might try to hunt him down if she gets out and he’s still alive.”
“No, I don’t fucking remember fucking her. At all. She wasn’t in college with me. She was a relative of a friend who was always at the biggest parties around campus. And honestly, the drugs were fast and hard, so I might’ve been high. Wouldn’t put it past her to drug me. I did so many chicks when I was younger, they’re just all a blur, mate. I don’t actually remember her, and if Jus hadn’t looked so much like when he rocked up, I would never have believed it. I boozed a lot in school, and was high almost as often. It was the only way I made it through law school because I was a bit fucked in the head back then, as we now know. I don’t labour the point on how I made him. It’s not fair to him, it’s not his fault he was conceived in a fucked up situation. But I’m not naive enough to think how he is today could be factored down to my lifestyle back then on some level. But if it was, then his cunt mother was a hundred times worse than I was. It’s pure luck he’s functional at all. You spoke to the chick who was apparently her best friend back when when I got you to investigate her for the trial. She was trashed right through the pregnancy and the only reason she didn’t abort was because she thought I was loaded because I had rich parents. I don’t fucking care about justice anymore, I just want my kid to have peace. He’s been to hell and back too many times.” Mark actually felt physically sick, here. The club sandwich he had at a business lunch a couple of hours ago was churning around in his guts. Somehow, he had to get his shit together now and deliver a flawless keynote speech in Princeton later that night too. He stopped by the window, looking out without seeing anything. That crap sensation he was close to helpless tears was hitting him, the one that usually only came when it felt like he was either letting Justin down or couldn’t take away his pain.
Clint was playing with Mark’s stapler, but was still watching him. He tossed it back and forth between his hands. With his own son still an infant, it was impossible to know how Mark was feeling. Clint didn’t know how Zephyr would grow up. Angela had a terrifyingly complicated birth, and although the kid seemed to be hitting all his expected milestones, he could have issues as he got older. Any parent might end up with a mentally ill kid. Clint wasn’t sure he would be as tough and strong as Mark was battling it. Clint had seen Justin in his absolute worst state - psychotic and suicidal. He probably still shouldn’t have a pulse, but he did. And he was really loved. It was still nauseating regardless to think of the awful shit he was subjected to as a child. It was no wonder his head was fucked up, but he still remained a good kid. He wasn’t an asshole, which was a massive achievement. “I can have it taken care of for you in a fucking heartbeat, bud. I can completely take it out of your hands.”
Mark narrowed his eyes a little, thinking on what Clint just said. He let the words filter into his mind and process there for a few lingering moments, eyes still out the window and trying to utilise the cityscape to stay focused. He shook his head. “No, just give me a few days. I want to try to ascertain what was in those letters. Depending on that, I’ll figure out what the next step is. Whether I want to drag it through another court case or just… have it extinguished once and for all. I want it done, mate. Don’t get me wrong. But I need to figure out that, if it’s done in this way, my kid won’t carry it like another demon on his back for the rest of his life. I know you get what I mean with that.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at Clint, meeting his gaze.
Clint offered a succinct nod. “Gotcha.” He stood, tossing the stapler back onto the desk. “Well, you know my number, bud. If you change your mind or you wanna fastrack anything, just give me a shout and I’ll have it done. But no fucking money is gonna change hands. I ain’t robbing any kid to put the world right. He shouldn’t have to pay for fucking peace. Make sure Sash has my number. If they need any help while you’re outta town, I can be there in minutes. I know you need as many hands on deck when your kid ain’t doing so well. Sorry I couldn’t have been the bearer of fucking fuzzy warm news instead, dude.”
Mark came over and shook Clint’s hand. “Thanks, though. As close as I am to my son, he still bears that horrible curse of feeling like he’s a fucking burden, which makes him teeter in a dangerous zone when shit hits the fan. I just hope he doesn’t have to self-destruct again before he can get better this time. Just… maybe do some digging in case things need to proceed. On the D-L.”
“Will do, dude. Call me, alright? Or any of us. We’re all well-versed in dealing with fucking cunts.” Clint gave Mark a companionable pat on the back, and then offered Wendy another smirk at here desk when he passed by as he left. Best to keep up the appearance no big deal was going down. No one had to be involved who wasn’t absolutely essentially involved.
LOG, COMPLETE