Simon zipped up his trousers after he finished at the urinal and patted me on the cheek. He had to gall to do it, even without washing his hands, knowing I wouldn’t say a word. The nerve!

He gave me that sardonic grin, then turned to beam at himself in the mirror. You know, like that guy from the Greek myth everyone warns you to not turn into.

My cheek still burned where he touched me. I wanted to punch him in the face. Why did god gift me with such a lovely boss?

‘Great work, Freddy,’ Simon said. ‘Can’t wait to hear your opening statement on the Charlotte murder.’

He skipped out of the bathroom. I quickly scrubbed my face raw at the sink, trying to clean off the stench of his hands.  I ran out of the bathroom and saw Simon not far up the hall. I couldn’t believe I did it, but I called out to him.

‘Will you be back soon, Simon? I need your help with a paragraph or two.’

I knew what he was going to say. The reality wasn’t any nicer.

‘Of course, baby Freddy,’ he said with that grin again. ‘Daddy Simon, always gets you out of trouble.’

He slicked his greasy black hair back, raised his bushy eyebrows, and turned around the corner.

* * *

The hustle and bustle of the courtroom was in full swing. Papers were flying, voices were whispering, and people were clamouring to get in. I cleared my throat, ‘Your hon-’

‘I’m sorry, your honour,’ Simon interjected. ‘Poor Freddy here advised me to take over the opening statement this morning. His just lacked the right… punch. Right, Fred?’

Of course, he was always going to do that. It was my fault for not realising he had a new low to sink to…

TO BE CONTINUED