So Are The Dames Of Our Lives

RE: VC: So Are The Dames Of Our Lives
Ginny — 23 Sep 1998, 9:52 AM

The sound of the door closing behind the Gunfighter and Kes startled Clare out of her reverie.

"Since it appears that I can expect no more help from you, Marshal, I suppose I should go see Judge Riker. Will you kindly direct me to his office?"

Marshal Tuvok shook his head and said, "It is after 5 p.m. on a Friday, Attorney Darrow. Judge Riker will no longer be at his office."

"Oh. Do you have any idea where I might find him?"

Marshal Tuvok hestitated and then said, "It has been his custom for many years to spend Friday evenings with various companions, female and otherwise, in the Risa Salon at Sandrine's. It is logical to assume that he could be found there now."

Clare looked at the Marshal with one eyebrow raised. Tuvok's face betrayed nothing--neither approval nor approbation. Clare smiled slowly. "Thank you, Marshal. You've been very helpful."

"I am gratified to have been of assistance, Attorney Darrow. Good evening."

"Good evening, Marshal." Clare stepped out into the early evening light and walked over to her buggy. Larson gave her a hand up into the vehicle.

"Where's Mr. Canuck?" Clare asked her chauffeur.

"He had to leave, ma'am. Some sort of journalistic emergency. Said he'd catch up with you sometime tomorrow."

Clare settled back in the buggy seat. "Very well. Drive me to Sandrine's, Anson."

A few minutes later, Larson pulled the buggy up in front of an low, shabby French provincial structure. As she and Larson walked up the front steps and into the establishment's foyer, she said to him, "I would prefer for you to wait for me at the bar, Anson. I'll call you when I'm ready to leave."

"Yes, Ma'am!" And he was off like a shot. A handsome, if somewhat underdressed, woman stepped into the foyer. Through the open doorway, behind her, Clare could see similarly attired young women and men in suits in a poorly lit room, playing pool. The woman closed the door and said, in a dreadful French accent, "Bonsoir, ma cherie. I am Sandrine. How may I help you?"

"I'm attorney Clare Ensfriggen Darrow. I would like to speak with Judge William Riker, if I may."

Sandrine gave her a knowing look. "Certainement. Come with me, please."

Clare followed the hostess in a wake of maribou feathers to a curtained salon. Sandrine parted the curtain slightly and spoke softly through the opening to the unseen occupants. Clare heard a good-humored male voice saying, "Send her in."

The lawyer stepped into a small, comfortable room and saw two tall, dark-haired men sitting in plush chairs and sipping bourbon. One of the men, a big, burly, handsome fellow with blue eyes and an affable expression stood up. "I'm Will Riker, Miss Darrow. I understand that you're representing Sevenita."

Clare extended her hand to the judge, who shook it warmly. "Yes, your Honor. I apologize for interrupting your evening, but I had a couple of questions that I needed answered."

The other man remained seated, watching the lawyer and the judge, a curious, not-altogether friendly look in his eyes. Clare continued.

"I've been unable to discover who is prosecuting the case against my client. Marshal Tuvok suggested that I speak with you."

Judge Riker laughed, a pleasantly masculine sound, and Clare once again thought of real estate. "You're in the right place at the right time, Miss Darrow. The prosecutor is sitting right there." And he pointed at the other man. "May I present Voyager City's district attorney, Wyatt Billiard Balle."

"Mr. Balle," Clare said, inclining her head toward the other man, who rose from his chair with an easy, almost indolent grace and smiled smugly at the woman in maroon.

"Please, call me Cue. Everyone does."