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293 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 5, 2018
“Yeah, and then when they find you dead they know exactly who to prosecute!”
“They already know,” Lukas pointed out. “I texted you, there’s a record now.”
“Oh, you texted me. Great. Great! Love it. Foolproof fucking plan! Because I’m definitely the cops, with a shit ton of resources at my disposal to ensure the safety of the citizenry—oh, wait, I’m not, I’m just some fuckass public defender.” Mark’s voice got distant. “Lena! Can you tell our investigator he’s being a fucking moron jackass?”
He called Lukas to tell him, but Lukas didn’t pick up, so he just left a short message. He felt like he probably sounded too excited for a murder case. He didn’t care. This was interesting. For once in his godforsaken career, something more than a driver’s license was at stake.
“‘I can’t—you can’t ask me to stop being what I am.’
‘And what is that, exactly?’
‘I believe in the letter of the law. It’s what I do. It’s all I do, and I’m good at it. Finding, finding compromises, sure, but I can’t—violate it, and still do what I do. I can’t sit there and know I’m doing the wrong thing.'”
“Lukas turned his back to Mark and bent down to put the beers in the fridge. His jeans were worn so thin (full! of! holes! Mark’s brain unhelpfully supplied with great emphasis, circling them and underlining like sports commentators drawing plays on the video of the field, arrows, skin visible here) that very little was left to the imagination, and his shirt was long-sleeved, but painfully tight.”
