life.
When it was over, we’d collapse into each other’s arms. We’d put on Bruckner’s Eighth. We’d kiss for hours, and hold each other tight. The power of our love seemed endless.
What had happened? Had I missed something? Had this Melissa always been there, this new Melissa, angry and vindictive, waiting to leap out, lash out and tear apart our dreams? I’d seen no sign of it, back then.
There were the pills, of course. The green ones, purple, orange, white. The vodka that washed them down. Stolichnaya from the freezer. But substances alone could not be all it was. It made no sense. It must always have been there. The anger. Hiding. Waiting. The pills and vodka only helped it show itself.
16.
WHEN I GOT TO WORK the elevators were down. Firemen slogged about the lobby, heavy with rubber clothes, oxygen tanks, large axes. Bomb scare, someone said.
A sign from God. Fuck the Lockwood hearing. I’d call the court. Plead natural disaster. Unforeseen contingency. Death and destruction. Lower back pain.
I called the other side. Pled my case. They agreed to an adjournment. We called the judge’s clerk.
No problem, he said.
It worked.
I was free.
I figured I’d drop by FitzGibbon’s office. See what I could see.
I grabbed a cab to the Consolidated Can building.
The cab smelled of stale cigarettes, and distress.
I negotiated the three security checkpoints. I found myself on the thirty-third floor. FitzGibbon was in.
The salsa guy was there, sitting like a stiff in his usual spot.
Furniture. It comes in all shapes and sizes.
FitzGibbon was leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk. He had on a pair of what looked to be very expensive snakeskin boots. And a seersucker suit. I hadn’t seen one since New Orleans.
I told him about my talk with Jules.
FitzGibbon didn’t ask me how Jules was. He didn’t ask me whether there was anything he could do to help.
Instead he leaned forward, looked me in the eye, and said, Hey, as if the thought had just occurred to him, you don’t think he’s innocent, do you?
I tried not to look too surprised.
It’s not my job to make that judgment, I said.
He leaned back in his chair.
I admire that, he said. I really do.
Well, I said. I’m doing my job.
Mmm, he said, and looked off into the distance.
He leaned forward again. Gave me a long and searching look. Didn’t say a thing.
The guy was not normal.
Or maybe he was trying to get me rattled. Sizing me up. See how I handled it.
Either way, I decided not to push the envelope, yet. Probably not prudent. To alienate the firm’s biggest client, fishing for dirt.
I’d like to come back and talk to you some more, I said. After I’ve got a little more information. I want to dig around a bit.
Sure, he said, the toothy smile growing larger. Anything for a lowlife.
I returned the smile.
There was another long pause.
You look a bit like Harrison Ford, he said.
Ah, I said. Thank you.
I wasn’t sure it had been intended as a compliment, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. All I could think about was how to get the hell out of there. Before things got even weirder.
It’s been a pleasure, I said, and got up to leave.
But it wasn’t going to be that easy.
Redman, he said as I reached the door.
I turned around.
I assume you’ve got some good Trusts and Estates people?
New business, I thought, switching to rainmaker mode. This could be going somewhere. Maybe Warwick had been right.
Sure, I said. We’re a full-service shop.
I’ve got a little something I’d like somebody to take a look at.
Just give me an idea what it’s about, I said, so I can set you up with the right people.
I was thinking of Dorita. T & E was her specialty.
Well, he said, it’s a little delicate. But I guess you’re my lawyer, right? Attorney-client privilege and all that?
Strictly speaking Jules is my client. Though of course you’re paying the bills.
Are you sure? he said, looking none too pleased.
There’s
When it was over, we’d collapse into each other’s arms. We’d put on Bruckner’s Eighth. We’d kiss for hours, and hold each other tight. The power of our love seemed endless.
What had happened? Had I missed something? Had this Melissa always been there, this new Melissa, angry and vindictive, waiting to leap out, lash out and tear apart our dreams? I’d seen no sign of it, back then.
There were the pills, of course. The green ones, purple, orange, white. The vodka that washed them down. Stolichnaya from the freezer. But substances alone could not be all it was. It made no sense. It must always have been there. The anger. Hiding. Waiting. The pills and vodka only helped it show itself.
16.
WHEN I GOT TO WORK the elevators were down. Firemen slogged about the lobby, heavy with rubber clothes, oxygen tanks, large axes. Bomb scare, someone said.
A sign from God. Fuck the Lockwood hearing. I’d call the court. Plead natural disaster. Unforeseen contingency. Death and destruction. Lower back pain.
I called the other side. Pled my case. They agreed to an adjournment. We called the judge’s clerk.
No problem, he said.
It worked.
I was free.
I figured I’d drop by FitzGibbon’s office. See what I could see.
I grabbed a cab to the Consolidated Can building.
The cab smelled of stale cigarettes, and distress.
I negotiated the three security checkpoints. I found myself on the thirty-third floor. FitzGibbon was in.
The salsa guy was there, sitting like a stiff in his usual spot.
Furniture. It comes in all shapes and sizes.
FitzGibbon was leaning back in his chair, feet on the desk. He had on a pair of what looked to be very expensive snakeskin boots. And a seersucker suit. I hadn’t seen one since New Orleans.
I told him about my talk with Jules.
FitzGibbon didn’t ask me how Jules was. He didn’t ask me whether there was anything he could do to help.
Instead he leaned forward, looked me in the eye, and said, Hey, as if the thought had just occurred to him, you don’t think he’s innocent, do you?
I tried not to look too surprised.
It’s not my job to make that judgment, I said.
He leaned back in his chair.
I admire that, he said. I really do.
Well, I said. I’m doing my job.
Mmm, he said, and looked off into the distance.
He leaned forward again. Gave me a long and searching look. Didn’t say a thing.
The guy was not normal.
Or maybe he was trying to get me rattled. Sizing me up. See how I handled it.
Either way, I decided not to push the envelope, yet. Probably not prudent. To alienate the firm’s biggest client, fishing for dirt.
I’d like to come back and talk to you some more, I said. After I’ve got a little more information. I want to dig around a bit.
Sure, he said, the toothy smile growing larger. Anything for a lowlife.
I returned the smile.
There was another long pause.
You look a bit like Harrison Ford, he said.
Ah, I said. Thank you.
I wasn’t sure it had been intended as a compliment, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. All I could think about was how to get the hell out of there. Before things got even weirder.
It’s been a pleasure, I said, and got up to leave.
But it wasn’t going to be that easy.
Redman, he said as I reached the door.
I turned around.
I assume you’ve got some good Trusts and Estates people?
New business, I thought, switching to rainmaker mode. This could be going somewhere. Maybe Warwick had been right.
Sure, I said. We’re a full-service shop.
I’ve got a little something I’d like somebody to take a look at.
Just give me an idea what it’s about, I said, so I can set you up with the right people.
I was thinking of Dorita. T & E was her specialty.
Well, he said, it’s a little delicate. But I guess you’re my lawyer, right? Attorney-client privilege and all that?
Strictly speaking Jules is my client. Though of course you’re paying the bills.
Are you sure? he said, looking none too pleased.
There’s
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