Author: BrittanyWood PM
Nora Middleton is a Lawyer, and when Punk/Rock star Billie Joe Armstrong brings her in on her day off her mood is already put off, just another Rock star gone Rouge. She has never been so wrong in her life. Now on the run with Green Day she tries to reunite Billie Joe with his family, only more and more scandal unfold. Their lives now in each others hands. What will become of them?Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Crime - St. Jimmy & Extraordinary Girl - Chapters: 23 - Words: 48,521 - Reviews: 26 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 12-08-12 - Published: 08-26-12 - id: 8467206
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
I enter my office, my home away from home. I have been called in on my day off, something about a rock star going crazy. I do not understand why they could not call in Lincoln Masters, or Lisa Malvaroy, anybody else. It's one of the biggest Law Firms in the world, we have thousands of Lawyers and yet they insisted upon calling me in on my day off. I just finished one of the biggest trials of my life and after its success I was granted a day off. I have been given no explanation other than this is a case for me. What is that even supposed to mean?
Sitting in the chair in front of my desk, looking out the window of my office out into the city streets that sit below, is my new client. Billie Joe Armstrong. No case files yet just a name and a warning of full client confidentiality, and in this law firm that is code for somebody who is high up in society's eyes. He doesn't seem like somebody high up in the social Class of New York. Finally my client turns to face me, His hair is shaggy and midnight black, his eyes are a striking, enticing green; I take a sharp breath for an unknown reason. He is wearing a black leather Jacket and a crinkled white T-shirt, black skinny jeans and leather motorbike boots. He smiles at me, his teeth a perfectly strange shade of white. He is the definite description of a modern day rock star.
"Mr Armstrong, how can I be of assistance?" I say pointedly, professionally and with a smile.
"Please, Billie Joe, Mr Armstrong was my father; I am not entirely sure." He states as he gets to his feet, looking at the ground puzzled by something, before he brings his hand up to shake mine, his eyes smiling at me.
"Forgive me for my bluntness, but why are you here then?" I have never been quite so blunt with a client, but this man is disrupting my day off and he has no reason. That and he is a musician, I have no tolerance for musicians on any day.
"It is a rather complicated situation; they said you were the only person who may be able to help me." He removes his hand from mine and brings both of his hands into a cup around his neck. I assume he means the administration staff, which means he is a walk in client. Fantastic.
"Pray, take a seat, gather your thoughts and begin when you feel you have it." I indicate back to where he was sitting. Walking to sit behind my desk I notice his bike helmet and gloves. His helmet is completely black including the visor. It is as if he does not wish to be recognised. I sit in my chair and place my notebook in front of me; I grab for a pen and start writing down my shopping list.
"Sorry Miss, what is your name?"
"Miss Middleton." I inform him, he almost seems taken aback.
"Is Miss your first name?" He tries to hide his laughter.
"To you it is." He is taken aback once more. I am sure this 'Rock star' is not used to such snide comments. I myself am not used to giving them.
"Well Miss Middleton, I hope I have not disrupted your day," I stare at him with a poker face, he has very much disrupted my day, "As you may, or may not, be aware, my band and I had a gig at Madison Square Garden last night." He looks at me, his face indicating I should be impressed by this, which I of course am not. "Well it went very well, it wasn't until I got back to my hotel room that everything went bad. For one thing it was empty and completely trashed," My first thought is he is a rock star so he must have trashed it, but being in my profession I must remove such assumptions from my mind, "My wife was not in but there was a letter on her bed. My first thought was perhaps she left having been bored or something, but that didn't explain why the room was trashed. I picked up the letter and read it. It was not from her, the letter explained that she has been taken, my son as well," his eyes change now, his voice choking up. "The letter said I had to bring them the parcel that had been taken in three days otherwise I will never see them again, and if I was to contact the authorities they will be dead within moments. It said nothing else; it doesn't say who they are, what they want, where this parcel may be or what the parcel is."
"You are right, this is rather a complicated situation Mr Armstrong," Now guilt has taken me, I was judging him before he even spoke, I assumed his case would be another rock-star-gone-rouge-running-in-with-the-law. This is much heavier, his family have been taken hostage and there is no backup. "I am not entirely sure why I have been appointed your case, I am -for lack of a better word- stumped." I hate to admit it, but I am a lawyer not a secret agent, not a cop, not even a mall cop, I am a nerd who reads textbooks and follows every rule there is.
"I am sorry to have disturbed you Miss Middleton, they had informed me it was your day off." He gets to his feet, grief filling his alluring eyes. Real grief, the grief and fear of a husband and a father on the brink of losing his entire family.
"Please, Billie Joe, I will look into this as much as I can, as quick as I can, I will find a way to help you as much as I can. I promise we will find a way." What I have said is a promise one should never make to a client, but this is not an ordinary case, it is an even more complex case, though through its complexity I should still not have made such a promise. Something lights up behind his eyes, optimism or hope, though whatever look it may be it quickly diminishes. He points to my notebook and pen and raises his eyebrows, asking a question that I cannot read, I presume for obvious reasons he wants to make a note. I hand them over to him and he scrawls something on the page and hands it back to me.
"Thank you Miss Middleton, I hope to hear from you soon." With that he turns around and collects his gear. As he reaches the door he puts his helmet on and fastens his jacket, slipping his hands into his gloves he opens the door and exists the room. I let out a breath I did not know I was holding and look at the notebook, He has given me his number and added suggestions of energy drinks and alcohol to my shopping list. For the first time in my professional life I believe his suggestions may be in order, I am in for a long night.
I leave no more than ten minutes after my distressed client, time enough to give him some personal space and for me to grab a few books I might need. A wife and a son? He is barely more than twenty-five years old. Which brings me to wonder just how old his son would be to be left alone, was his son left alone or was he with his mother? And as for his wife, did they marry before or after their child? Now I find myself in a dangerous thought section, he is my client and the situation at hand does not require such personal information, I should stop thinking about them. I noticed earlier he said 'Mr Armstrong WAS my father.' Is his father dead? Did he die young, was Billie Joe young when he died? Or is he an absent father? Was there a bad relationship between the two which has led Billie Joe to referring to him in past tense?
"STOP!" I shout to myself, my voice ricochets off the elevator walls, saying it out loud stops my wandering thoughts. The elevator dings as it reaches the car park level I am parked in. The doors open and my heart sinks. Every car in the parking lot is gone, all but mine. I walk towards is cautiously, the elevator now gone I can hear nothing other than my own footsteps. An eerie feeling washes over me and suddenly I am running. I reach my car and jiggle the handle; its unlocked. I jump into the car and lock the doors. Letting out a shaky breath I put my keys into the ignition; the engine whirs but does not kick over. Something dawns on me as a separate something catches my eye. I locked my car, I think to myself as I look at an envelope with my name on the front. Nora Middleton is written on the front of it in the text font of Old English. From what I can remember of my schooling years, that font never leads to something happy. Ever. I sort of just stare at it confused, scared, and somewhat curious despite. I pick it up hands shaking, I have no idea what is going on, I just hope this letter will help me understand. The letter reads: you let him in, you play the game.
I scrunch of the paper and throw it away, both in fear and defiance. Do people honestly have nothing better to do? I try my engine again, still no response. I unlock the door and pop the hood. I know nothing about cars but it seems like the right thing to do. Lifting the hood I already see loose tubes and cut things. I close the hood with a frustrated slam. Storming back to the drivers seat I search the middle compartment of my car for my phone. It's not there, the bastards stole my phone. I let out an angered scream, this is not how my day off was supposed to go! I just wanted to watch some mindless TV and eat tim tams, I did not plan on getting out if my pajama's, let alone putting up with this. I get out of my car and storm my way back over to the elevator, now having to call triple-A from my office. The feeling of fear has left me replaced by sheer annoyance. I no longer hear the silence of the empty car park, I just hear the pumping of blood from my agitation. I push the button and the unexpected has happened. Sirens start blasting through the abandoned parking lot, the red emergency light spinning frantically in front of the elevator. I hear the clunking halt of the elevator and the whole building locking down. Fantastic. Whoever this guy is, is a downright American Idiot. Now trapped in an underground car park with no phone, no car and no way out. An emergency exit catches my eye and I figure this is my best chance. I sprint back to my car, reaching in I grab my notebook and slam the door. Turning back around I see the emergency exit door already opened, fear hits me again, they are here.
I walk towards the exit regardless, it is after all my only way out. I just have to hope they keep their appearance scarce. With a rapid pace I make my way over to the emergency exit door, I push through it and close the door behind me, the sounds of the sirens can no longer be heard. Just the hammering of my heart against my chest and the shakiness of my breath. Faint pattering of feet can be heard from levels much higher than mine. I wonder if this is the deranged criminal who caused all this or another stranded person. I go for the latter and begin to ascend the stairwell. Considering my options after finding my way out of this mouse trap we call emergency stairs, I really only have one. I have to call my new client Billie Joe Armstrong to come to my rescue. I feel my face burning red with shame already. I was nothing but rude to him earlier and now I have to call him because he is the only number I have on me without my phone. I would call my apartment but my roommate, Abigail Westron, is in the hospital working tonight, so I would be ringing an empty apartment. The only other phone number I know is my mother's home number, but she renders useless as she lives in Berkley.
After six flights of stairs I finally come to a door that says 'ground level' and I push through it. Cold crisp air fills my lungs and the noise of inner city new york fills my ears. I look at the building which holds my office and see the panic of everybody inside it as sirens continue to blare and doors continue locking down. I put my hand against my head, What is going on? Is one day off too much to ask for? Police sirens sound in the distance heading towards our building and all I can think about is the amount of paperwork that is going to have to be filled out. I head towards the corner of the street in search for a payphone. In the near distance I can see one and I hurry towards it, I suppose the only real reason to rush to my newly destined embarrassment is fear of somebody getting in the booth before me and preventing me from getting back to my apartment. This day has gone far from a relaxing day. I reach into my pocket and pull out some change, placing it in the machine I take the phone off the hook and open my notebook to the page with his number.
"Billie Joe." A familiar, husky voice speaks to me from the other side of the phone line.
"Hello Mr Armstrong, it's Nora Middleton." I bring myself to a halt realizing I have given him my name. I can almost hear the smile through the phone.
"Nice to hear from you so soon Nora, have you found something already?"
"I haven't had a chance so far yet to even look into it, I actually am calling for a different reason."
"Oh?" His voice is intrigued now and I feel the redness return to my cheeks, "I've had some car troubles and I seem to have lost my phone-"
"Ah, you need a lift don't you?"
"Yes," I sigh giving into the embarrassment, "I would not bother you but your phone number is the only one I have at the moment."
"It's alright Nora, I am not doing anything until later this evening I can come get you. Are you still at the office?"
"Sort of, I am calling from a payphone out the front."
"Wow, you really did lose your phone didn't you?" He laughs in disbelief, I am taken aback, "I will be there shortly." With that he hangs up, leaving nothing, but a dead dial tone and the dropping of change from the machine, in my ears. I hang the phone back on its hanger and step outside the booth. This day could not possibly get any worse. Shame taking over me I take to sitting in the gutter, ignoring the feeling that I am being watched and I just wait, wait until my lost, torn and attractive client comes to pick me up out of the gutter. Stop it Nora Middleton, he is your client, cease this thinking immediately! I shout in my head, you cannot think of him in that way. I sink deeper into the gutter and wait for some kind of vehicle to pull up in front of me.