Free Favors and Lies by Mark Gilleo Page A

you are likely to practice will be on my dead body.”
    Dan noticed Sue stifle a laugh.
    â€œYou can laugh,” Dan said. “It was a joke.”
    A small nasal blurt escaped. “I didn’t really think I was going to see any bodies. I thought the job would give me insight into human behavior. Things that may help me in diagnosing a crime scene. A look at the criminal mind.”
    â€œA glance at the underbelly of humanity?”
    â€œYeah, something like that.”
    â€œWell, I don’t want to be responsible for your therapy bills later, so tell me why I should hire you and, God forbid, why you wouldn’t faint if you came into work and found my brains spread across the desk . . . for example.”
    â€œNice example. In layman’s terms it sounds like you are asking for my qualifications, beyond two years of forensic and criminal justice studies in grad school.”
    â€œThat’s a fair translation.”
    â€œI can type, answer the phones, use the computer, and send emails. I read two dozen newspapers a day. I’m a techno geek, meaning I’m connected all the time.”
    â€œConnected?”
    â€œTexting. Tweeting. Facebooking. Email. Instagram.”
    â€œCan you use a camera?”
    â€œI own a Cannon SLR.”
    â€œParabolic mic?”
    â€œNever needed to use one, but would love to try.”
    â€œAnything else?”
    â€œI lost my parents when I was fifteen and went to court to become my own guardian when I was sixteen. I identified both of my parents’ bodies. Your brains on the desk would bother you more than they would bother me.”
    â€œYou smoke?”
    â€œIs it a smoke-free office?”
    â€œNo. I only ask because I quit three years ago and don’t need to have someone blowing smoke around the place. Paying clients, of course, can smoke all they want.”
    â€œI don’t smoke, unless the situation calls for it.”
    â€œLike?”
    â€œYou never know. I can’t sit here and say you will never see me smoke a cigarette. But I can sit here and tell you I’m not a smoker, nor do I intend to smoke, but you never know the circumstances.”
    â€œGood enough.”
    â€œI’ve smoked weed a few times.”
    â€œYou buried your parents at fifteen. I’m willing to cut you some slack. Besides, I’m coming around to the opinion that everyone has tried it.”
    Sue glanced up at the pictures on the wall. Photos from exotic locations—deserts, mountains, crystal clear beaches. “What did you do before?”
    â€œBefore what?”
    â€œBefore you became a legal advisor. Private detective. Whatever it is you do.”
    Dan turned in his chair and looked at the pictures on the wall.
    â€œDid you take them?” Sue prodded.
    â€œYeah. I spent half my life here in Washington and half of it wherever my father was stationed.”
    â€œSounds cool.”
    â€œAs for ‘whatever it is that I do’ . . . it is simple. I provide legal advice, for a fee, to discreet clientele. I am very selective. You won’t find me in the yellow pages. I work by referral and I go after scum.”
    â€œWho determines what scum is?”
    â€œScum is self-identifiable. Like shit on a sidewalk, if you can excuse the crass imagery. You know what it is when you see it.”
    â€œThe average person sees shit on the sidewalk and goes around it.”
    â€œSometimes it needs to be stepped in. Or pushed to the side.”
    â€œInteresting analogy. Is there anyone you won’t represent?”
    â€œNo one in intelligence and no one in the mob. They can solve their own problems.”
    â€œSeriously?”
    â€œSeriously. Those two categories of people can make you disappear. I’m not afraid of confrontation. But the fight has to be fair.”
    â€œOK. No spies and no mobsters.”
    â€œAs far as the job goes, I’m looking for someone who can run the