Page 9 of Anarchy Missing

CHAPTER FOUR - LULU

I live super close to City Hall. I almost bought a house up north, in the upper-class suburban neighborhoods near the mountains. But it was so much money. And I had reservations about this city from the very start, so I wasn’t sure I actually wanted to buy a place. And renting a house in the suburbs is a waste. They are too expensive. Especially for a single person. Who needs all that space when they’re single?

So I rented a loft in downtown.

I feel a lot better about that decision. Renting is a great idea. I don’t know if I’ll like it here. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more to this place…

I sigh as I pull my car into the municipal parking garage and take the ramp up to the sixth level where I have a reserved spot. I don’t want to feel this way. I want to fit in, and feel at home, and get a new life. Away from the one I had in Wolf Valley after college.

My parents talked me into that job. And I don’t blame them. They just wanted me to come home after law school. I’d been away for almost seven years.

I only lasted six months before the city officials figured out I wasn’t corruptible. Lady Liberty, they called me. In a sneering way. But I kinda liked the nickname. What’s wrong with being Lady Liberty? You’d think that would be a compliment for a district attorney.

It is, Lulu, I tell myself. Values, ethics, and a respect for law and order are good things.

Since when are these bad qualities?

But everyone I met up in Wolf Valley saw government positions as nothing more than stepping stones. And not into the private sector, either. Like I might not be a prosecutor forever. I can see myself defending people. Some high-class trial lawyer who always wins and makes boatloads of money. I’d like that just as much as anyone.

But these people aren’t looking for better jobs, they’re just looking for better perks. And they want favors too. Special considerations. Park their cars anywhere they want and never fear they’ll get a ticket. Get caught speeding and talk their way out of it by name-dropping. You know, the good old rules-don’t-apply-to-me attitude.

Everyone wants a better paycheck. They want luxury cars, bigger houses, more benefits and financial security. I get it.

But anyone who gets that by abusing their power doesn’t deserve it.

I said those exact words to my boss up in the valley.

He was not impressed. I was told to wise up and toe the line.

I quit instead.

The Cathedral City job was already on the table, so it’s not like I took a big risk or anything. Still, I said those things and I meant them.

I still mean them now. So what a heart-crushing disappointment it will be if I have to do it again here. What will it mean for my future? Will I ever get another job? You can’t have two new jobs in less than a year and expect people to take you seriously. Not when you’re a lawyer.

No. I can’t do that again. Not for a while. I need to make this job work. Stick it out. Confront what I don’t like and try to change it from within. Be Lady Liberty, I decide. I will be that flame of truth in the dark.

I will not run. Not this time.

I get out of the car feeling small and, if I’m being honest, slightly depressed about my new life. Randy is only part of it. Mayor Salinas is always looming over us, wanting things to work out the way he plans. Don’t push this case too hard. Give this one a deal. Put this one away forever.

Is that how it’s supposed to work? Is the law malleable? Can you pound it into submission and shape it into anything you want like a piece of soft metal?

God, I hope not. If this is the way it works—if this is how it is everywhere—then I made the wrong choice when I became a lawyer.

I chose law and order because I’m an idealist. I think the rules apply to everyone, equally. That no matter who you are, you must follow them like everyone else.

Otherwise, why have laws? Why not just live in anarchy?

I shudder at the thought.

Our offices are on the sixth floor of the City Hall building, so as soon as I walk through the large glass doors, I’m confronted by dozens of people, all bustling around in a frenzy.

I guess everyone gets here early on panic days.

Note to self, start coming in at six am instead of eight.

“Lightly,” Randy says, peeking his head out of his office door. “Finally.”