Gabriel’s Inferno Trilogy by Sylvain Reynard Page 0,302

answered his cell phone amidst the sounds of squealing and high-pitched giggles.

“Zip up your pants, John. This is going to take a while.”

The lawyer cursed before covering his cell phone with one hand. “Don’t go anywhere, sugar.” He addressed his female pelvic affiliate before scuttling off in his red bikini briefs to the washroom.

“I’m already on top of your harassment complaint, Emerson. You don’t need to pester me. I was about to have the best sex of my life.”

“I need to speak to you about something else.” Gabriel briefly summarized the contents of the Dean’s letter to Julia.

“I can’t help your girlfriend.”

Gabriel began to sputter and protest, but John ignored him.

“Listen, if they’re dragging you in for sexual harassment and your twink—ahem—girlfriend in for some kind of academic infraction, I’ll bet my Porsche that the two complaints are connected. Have you told her not to mention you during her conversation with the Dean?”

Gabriel gritted his teeth. “No.”

“Well, you should. You don’t want to be drawn into anything through her. You have enough to worry about.”

The Professor breathed in and out chillingly slowly.

“I’m not in the habit of cutting loose my friends, least of all Julianne. Is that clear? Or do I need to find myself another lawyer?”

“Fine. But she needs her own attorney. If these two matters are connected, it’s likely to raise a conflict of interest for me. And I think the university might become suspicious if I represented both of you.”

“Fine!” spat Gabriel. “Who do you recommend?”

John thought for a moment. “I’d recommend Soraya Harandi. She works for one of the Bay Street firms, and she has represented faculty against the university in the past. We had a thing a couple of years ago and she hates my guts. But she’s good at what she does.”

He grunted into the phone, apparently reaching for his BlackBerry. “I’ll text you her contact information. Ask your girlfriend to call Soraya’s office and explain the situation to her secretary. I’m sure she’ll jump at the opportunity.”

“What’s the likelihood of either complaint resulting in—negative consequences?”

“I have no idea. It’s possible the university will conduct an investigation and dismiss both complaints. But don’t let her go in there without a lawyer, or this could turn around and bite both of you in the ass.”

“Thanks, John.” Gabriel’s voice was laced with sarcasm.

“In the meantime, I’d like you to make a list of everything—and I mean everything—that is relevant to the harassment complaint. Any kind of evidence she might present, such as emails, texts, messages, and photographs. Send everything to me, and I’ll start looking at it. And send me everything on your girlfriend too.

“I don’t like having to say, ‘I told you so,’ Gabriel. But I did. The university has a zero-tolerance policy with respect to fraternization, which means they can expel your girlfriend and fire you. Let’s hope the two complaints are not connected and that someone reported her for failing to return her library books.”

“It’s always a pleasure to speak with you,” said Gabriel icily.

“If you didn’t think with your dick, you wouldn’t be speaking with me. I just hope your girlfriend was worth it, because if the shit hits the fan, she’s going to turn out to be an extremely costly lay.”

Before John could say good-bye, Gabriel hurled the handset against the wall, watching it smash into several large pieces and falling to the hardwood floor below. Then he took several deep breaths so he could convince Julia they should simply enjoy their vacation.

* * *

That same afternoon, Dean David Aras sat in his office on St. George Street and looked at his telephone with surprise. Usually, his administrative assistant was much better at screening his calls. But Professor Katherine Picton was nothing if not persistent, and she usually received whatever she wanted. In this case, that was a conversation with the Dean of Graduate Studies at the University of Toronto.

He lifted the handset and pressed the button. “Hello, Professor Picton. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“There’s no pleasure at all, David. I demand to know why I received a letter from your office requiring me to be interviewed at one of your Stalinist proceedings.”

David pressed his lips together in order to avoid biting back. She was famous, she was old, and she was a woman. He wasn’t about to curse her out.

(Except in Lithuanian. Perhaps.)

“I need to ask you a few questions. It will take ten minutes, tops, and you’ll be on your way,” he replied smoothly.

“Nonsense. It takes me