Primal Fear by William Diehl Page B

place, his sanctum, and his dead eyes danced from one part of the room to the other to see if anything had been disturbed or moved out of place.
    “Good to see you again, Counselor,” he said, offering a soft, fleshy hand. “It was kind of you to come on such short notice—and such shit weather.”
    The epithet surprised Vail. Profanity seemed out of character for Shoat. The judge pulled his robe slowly over his head, opened a closet near the wet bar, and hung the robe carefully on a padded clothes hanger, slipping it in between the other clothes on the rack, all of them an inch apart so they did not touch. Heput his suit coat on, smoothing it out, shooting his cuffs and buttoning the middle button.
    Sleeps in pajamas,
Vail thought.
Buttons all the buttons, even the top one, slides into bed from the top so he doesn’t undo the covers, probably sleeps flat on his back with his hands across his chest like a corpse, so he doesn’t muss up the bed.
    “I’ve recessed for the day so we have plenty of time,” Shoat said. “Care for a drink? Bourbon, scotch?”
    “Got any beer?”
    “No,” Shoat said, and looked as if he had smelled something dead.
    “Bourbon’ll be fine, a little ice, maybe an inch or so of water.”
    The liquor was in pebbled bottles with small brass tags around their necks. Shoat took down two glasses, lined them up carefully beside each other on the bar. He took out two ice cubes, dropped them in one glass and ran an inch or so of water over them. He held the glass up, studied the amount of water, and added another spurt. Then he filled the rest of the glass with bourbon and handed it to Vail. He filled his own glass with scotch, no rocks, knocked down half of it in his first sip, and sighed with satisfaction.
    “One can always use a scotch at the end of the day,” he said. “Particularly in this jungle.”
    He sat down, appraised his desk for a moment, then moved the marble pen holder half an inch to the left. He smiled to himself, brushed imaginary dust from his desk, took a linen napkin from his desk drawer, carefully lined it up with the edge of the desk and put his drink on it. He looked over at Vail.
    “I have a little favor to ask,” he said.
    “Okay,” Vail said. “What is it?”
    “I have a case I want you to handle. A pro bono. That shouldn’t be a problem, should it? I understand your end of the recent taxpayers’ skinning is half a million dollars.”
    “Joe Pinero was the one who got skinned—literally—according to the jury. If that matters.”
    Shoat looked annoyed. He closed his eyes and said, “Don’t get obstinate with me, Mr. Vail.”
    “Just stating the facts, Your Honor.”
    “And poor old Al Silverman. You really did a number on him, didn’t you? The man spent three weeks in a hospital andnow I understand he’s applied for a teaching job at City University.”
    “Why are we suddenly feeling sorry for poor old Al, Your Honor? He got his ass whipped. It happens.”
    “Not to you, though. Not in the last… what is it, four years since you lost a case?”
    “There were some plea bargains in there, if I remember correctly.”
    “As you know, I don’t look kindly on plea-bargaining,” Shoat said almost viciously. “I say go to the bar with it, make or break, that’s what courts are for.”
    “Yes sir, I know your predisposition on that question. As for Al Silverman, he’s a damn fine lawyer. He just got hung by a bad case.”
    “A gangster, Mr. Vail? Everybody knows Pinero is a hit man for…” He waved his hand vaguely. “Whoever.”
    “Which has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that three cops used him as their personal punching bag. Is that what this is about? Chewing me out for winning a case?”
    “I told you what this is about. What this is about, sir, is that I am asking you to take on this pro bono as a personal favor.”
    One did not deny a superior court judge a personal favor.
    “I was hoping I could get away for about two weeks,