A/N: Thank you for the positive reviews! Yes, I would love a cyber Hershey bar! I apologize for the lack of Billy/Velma in this chapter, but it's coming; be patient.
Chapter 2: Reprehensible
KITTY BAXTER: ATTACKED BY HER HUSBAND'S JEALOUS MISTRESS
By Mary Sunshine.
Billy couldn't think of anything he loved more than a newspaper, hot off the press. He loved its delectable smell, its baby-soft texture, but most of all, its amazingly beautiful headline. With this kind of press, Kitty would have freedom before D.A Harrison could open his mouth against her.
And Billy would be $5,000 richer.
This was the best spectacle of his career, even better than that Hart kid. Kitty's cheating bastard had not one mistress, but three. The story was that Kitty came into the house and witnessed a woman she didn't know shoot her husband and his two lovers. She turned the gun against Kitty, and Kitty tried to wrestle it away from her. A shot rang out, and abracadabra! Conveniently, the other woman was dead!
It was so farcical, so unbelievable. Yet there it was, black and white, clear as crystal. The people of Chicago believed anything spoon-fed to them through the Chicago Tribune. He imagined them, lamenting over poor Kitty, a victim of an undeniably corrupt system, just trying defend herself.
Just trying to defend herself his ass.
They were waiting outside in lines for him. He had three clients right after Kitty's trial, and prison broads throwing themselves at his feet. Never lost a case. Never lost a goddamn case.
There was only one person to thank for that.
xxxxx
Immaculate. That was the only way to describe William C. Flynn, Attorney at Law's new office. Possible clients in one pile, upcoming appointments in another, important messages in yet another, and important messages he didn't want to answer in the trash.
At the top of his list today was Mary Sunshine, reporter at the Chicago Tribune. She slipped in meekly, straightened out her skirt, smiled at him with the oh-so-sweet geniality of a kindergarten teacher. Or a robot.
"What exactly are you trying to pull, Miss Sunshine?"
"Excuse me?"
"Look at this. Look at what you wrote about my client: 'Miss Vivian Riley will surely be accused of the murder of her ex-boyfriend and her mother. Her alibi is impossible, not to mention ridiculously absurd.' This article, Miss Sunshine, is absurd."
"Mr. Flynn, we have freedom of the press in this country, so this doesn't even concern you."
She spoke without hesitation, each word as precise as each lock of her golden hair.
"Well, Miss Sunshine, I am willing to offer you 20 of my profits if you, well, give your stories a different curve."
"Are you bribing me, Mr. Flynn? If you must bribe me, you can at least do it well. I want half."
"Half? Tell me you're joking."
"Well, Mr. Flynn, if you have nothing else to offer, I think my business here is done."
She stood up to leave, unintentionally brandishing her luxurious legs. Billy usually got flashes of brilliance like thunderclaps in his mind; a more appropriate simile for this situation was a flash of brilliance like a kick in the groin.
"Miss Sunshine, I still have something to offer."
"I'm listening, Mr. Flynn."
"Myself. Three times a week, and twice on Sundays."
He stood up and bowed in mock subservience. She raised her eyebrows until they met her hairline and grimaced in mock disgust. Confident, he stuck out his hand.
"Well, Miss Sunshine?"
"Mr. Flynn, I believe we have a deal."
She shook his hand.
xxxxx
Billy hated keeping track of his secretaries. None of them could type, spell, or even construct a complete sentence, but they were all bombshells. His latest airhead slinked into his office, wagging a phone in her wake.
"Mr. Flynn, there's a Miss Kelly on the line for you."
"Veronica, I do not like being disturbed with such trivial matters. Please take a message."
He tapped his pen lightly against his desk, contemplating what he could do for a case that was virtually already won. He could count his money again. He could spin around in circles on his chair. Maybe he should speak to Velma.
Veronica strutted in briskly, trying vainly to appear somewhat businesslike. She left a note on his desk and strutted back out. Suddenly, Billy remembered why he hired her.
He peered at the note:
"Tomorrow night, 7 pm at Maxine's. Don't be late."
