THE COED MURDER CLUB. Ken Salter

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      My secretary, Juanita, buzzed me on the intercom while I was trying to finish a report on a complicated skip trace investigation for an attorney client.

      “R.C., your two o’clock appointment is here. You better come quick. They’re starting to fight with each other.”

      “Damn, tell them I’ll be right there.” I sighed. I needed to finish writing the report so Juanita could type it this afternoon. I had about twenty hours of billable time in the case and I needed to get paid. Barney Schultz, my attorney client, needed the report to justify paying me. As Barney says, “No tickee, no laundry. No report, no pay.” It’s as simple as that. He’s a real tight-ass when it comes to paying for my investigation services out of retainer accounts. Even though I sublet office space from him, he won’t cut me any slack.

      I removed the cassette from the dictating machine to give to Juanita. She could type what I’d done so far. I’d have to find time to finish it later. My two o’clock clients were new and I’d already СКАЧАТЬ