Free The Wrong Lawyer by Donald W. Desaulniers

before today?”
    “No.”
    “What did the two
of you talk about?”
    “We mostly
discussed the utter idiocy of airport security. He was disgusted that he
regularly got hassled in American airports and he alluded that it was my fair
skin which accounted for the fact that I’ve never had any problems travelling.
Until today, that is. I’d appreciate knowing why I’m being interrogated right
now.”
    Matthews ignored
my request.
    “Are you meeting
anyone in Las Vegas?”
    “No.”
    “Where will you be
staying?”
    “At the Four
Queens in the downtown section of the city.”
    “Who knows that
you’re travelling today?”
    “Practically no
one; I told my best friend and his new girlfriend, and the teller at my bank
asked me where I was going when I purchased some US money yesterday. I don’t
have any family.”
    “Are you expecting
anyone to contact you while you’re in Las Vegas?”
    “No.”
    “Do you know
anyone in Las Vegas?”
    “No.”
    “Can you explain
why you only booked your flight on Sunday?”
    Up to now I had
put up with Matthews’ aggressive tone of voice, but the clear inference in this
last question was that I had done something wrong. I decided that I disliked
the Special Agent and wouldn’t let him intimidate me.
    “I could but it’s
none of your business.”
    “On the contrary,
absolutely everything you do or say is very much our business. Please answer
the question.”
    “If you’re so
clever, then you can probably figure it out yourself. I booked the trip on
Expedia in the early hours of Sunday morning while I was pissed. I didn’t even
realize that I had booked and paid for the vacation until I woke up later that
morning and saw the confirmation on my computer. I assume that I made all the
arrangements on-line.”
    “That’s correct;
you did,” the jackass smirked as he passed a copy of my trip itinerary across
the desk to me.
    I was now
beginning to get really pissed off.
    “What a colossal
waste of time!” I snarled. “No wonder your damn country is about five dollars
away from total bankruptcy.”
    “What is the name
of your best friend and his new girlfriend?” the special agent persisted.
    “I bet you’re too
stupid to figure it out yourself,” I retorted. “Why don’t you fly half a dozen
of your crack team up to Canada to learn all about me? I am willing to disclose
that my cock size is extra-large.”
    Matthews was
getting miffed since I appeared unimpressed with his access to instant
information about me. In reality I was shocked that they had already researched
me so thoroughly.
    He banged away at
the sophisticated computer equipment on his desk until it spat out some type of
picture.
    With a flourish he
waved it in the air.
    “On the contrary,
sir, by the looks of this scan from one of your previous sorties into America,
your penis is actually quite tiny.”
    The other agents
snickered.
    I had to give the
little pervert credit. He had suckered me on that one. I had no idea they
retained those airport full body scans and added it to whatever other
information they had about the unsuspecting traveler.
    “You didn’t think
it was so tiny last weekend when you were sucking on it,” I shot back.
    That line broke
his team up but Matthews’ face got red as a beet and contorted with anger.
    “What do you think
of this, smart ass?” he snarled as his fingers banged away again at the
equipment.
    A moment later my
telephone conversation with Jim Corbett from Monday evening was being replayed
clear as a bell.
    Still not finished
with his flashy demonstration, Matthews’ fingers literally flew over the
keyboard. Within thirty seconds I was flabbergasted to hear the voices of
Corbett, Lynne and me from Jim’s living-room.
    It was uncanny.
Somehow our private conversation had been recorded and filed away.
    “Next I suppose
you’ll be telling me that you have access to all my financial records.”
    “As a matter of
fact, we do,” Matthews smirked. “You’ve