Not That Kind of Girl by Susan Donovan

That’s what he loved about the current women’s fashions—you could have half your tits on display, your skirt as tight as a tourniquet, and be prancing around in heels so high that your ass was sticking out screaming “Come and get it!” and you’d look just like the women who graced the pages of Vogue or even, thank the gods, women who practiced in a court of law. They were all dressed like hookers.
    God damn, this was a good time to be alive.
    “City code discourages the use of legal representation for either the complainant or the defendant,” he said, staring at her legs as she sat on the couch and took notes.
    The girl cocked her head in confusion. “But in this case, the complainant is a lawyer, while the dog owner is not. That seems a little unfair.”
    “Exactly,” he said, wagging his eyebrows. “Now, the hearing is not considered a legal proceeding, per se, so there’s no judge. There will be a hearing officer or magistrate instead, and that person is often an investigating officer from the dog bite unit.”
    His assistant crinkled her pretty brow, pen poised in midair. “Yeah. I wondered about that,” she said. “It seems the SFPD’s dog bite division investigates the case and then gets to rule on the merits of their own evidence.”
    Raymond tipped his head back and roared. “You’re sharp, Randy. I like sharp girls.”
    “Dusty,” she said.
    “I see you’ve been doing your research.”
    “Yes, sir. I have.”
    Raymond enjoyed this girl. He bet her boob would feel great cupped in his hand. And he looked forward to finding out how she tasted. He bet she tasted like saltwater taffy. And his plan was to get the little taffy-tasting smarty-pants all worked up. He’d drive her absolutely crazy with his tongue. Then he’d pile-drive her.
    “Once the magistrate rules in my favor, I can proceed with the tort complaint,” Raymond said, admiring her cleavage.
    She nodded, her eyes cast downward.
    Raymond sat down next to Ricky on the leather sofa of his office suite. He stared across the room, pretending to be lost in thought, while he pressed his leg up against her knee. She moved away.
    This was no problem. He loved a good chase. It made going in for the kill that much sweeter.
    Raymond nodded pensively. “I don’t know if I mentioned this, but, in a way, this case is personal.” He kept his eyes focused off in the distance and sighed, as if he were deeply troubled by the situation. “Unfortunately, the vicious dog in question belongs to a woman I was once romantically involved with. She was unstable. She even stalked me and attacked me in a public setting. It’s a very sad story, really, but the last straw was when she sicced her pit bull on me. I do hope she finds the help she needs.”
    “I know all about her,” she said.
    Raymond’s head swiveled around. “You do?”
    “Sure,” she said, smiling. “When you asked me to prepare for the hearing, I researched the vicious and dangerous dog laws as described in Section 42-A of the San Francisco Health Code. Plus I obtained the police report, the vicious dog complaint you filed from your laptop in the emergency room, the order for impounding the dog, your request for—and the approval of—an expedited hearing, and a copy of Animal Control’s signed release form. Then I researched Roxanne Bloom’s background.”
    Raymond must not have heard her right. A release? What fucking release? He took a second to calm himself before he turned toward her. “Excellent work,” he said, smiling in approval while the blood pounded in his brain.
    How the hell had Bloom gotten her little bitch dog out of there so fast? The creature was supposed to be impounded until the hearing date! It was a matter of public safety!
    He watched Ricky nod her pretty head. “So, I gather this is the very same woman you’ve been preparing to sue for defamation of character?”
    “The same,” he said.
    They were quiet for a moment. Then she cleared her throat.