Scott Turow - Personal injuries

"Same old," Mersing answered. "Your friend, the one you used to call s.b.d., she's been coming in again."

"Oh yeah? Tell her I say howdy." Robbie tilted his glass back and watched the bubbles rise. "S.b.d.," he said softly and smiled.

Short black dress, Mersing explained when Sylvia asked. Robbie and he then conversed about a fellow named Connerty. He'd had three marriages which, all told, had not lasted a year. Currently, he was seeing someone whom Mersing referred to as "the Sicilian girl."

"Glows in the dark," Robbie said.

"Really?" The two men shared a laugh.

Sylvia was fully entwined with Robbie now. Her arm was wrapped around his and she'd drawn him close as she sat on the polished steel barstool. Her knees, on which her nylons shone, were parted vaguely, and Feaver's hip occupied the resulting space. A huge swell of laughter rippled through Mersing and Robbie and the two women. Evon had missed the joke.

Looking away again, from nowhere she felt herself nearly knocked flat by longing. It arrived something like her period, always a little surprising and unwanted, with such sudden focused intensity that for a single instant she was afraid she might even cry out. And then blessedly, as ever, it passed, leaving her in the aftermath still throbbing like a bell after an alarm. The thought of a real drink, instead of her Perrier lime, tempted her briefly, but Feaver suddenly shed Sylvia. He'd spotted Kosic. He left a large tip for Lutese, before motioning Evon onward.

Robbie had said Kosic looked like an anchovy fresh out of the can, and with that description Evon had no trouble spotting him, a stringy, sallow, silent man, who sat at the end of the bar. Just above him, a pianist played show tunes in the loft. Rollo was alone. He was always alone, according to what Robbie had said. If somebody sat down beside Rollo, he moved to the next stool, and if there were no stools left, he just stared at the wall or the bottles on the bar in front of him. He generally spoke only to Lutese or the other bartenders. He was genial with them, if you could call the exchange of a few words geniality. He laid two twenties down when he assumed his stool and quit when there was only a ten, which he left as a tip. As they came upon him now, Kosic had stolen a look at himself in the bar mirror and was patting his thinning hair back into place.

"Rollo the K, how's tricks?" Robbie slipped into the usual open space beside Kosic. Rollo nodded a bit and worked on his cigarette. Up above, the pianist began a rendition of "Yesterday." Dressed entirely in black, the musician crooned along lethargically, bearing up through one more night of indignity in which any attention he received came only when the patrons reached an awkward juncture in their come-ons. Evon knew the music was going to be a problem on the recording, but there was nothing to do about it now. Kosic had yet to say a word, anyway.

When Robbie introduced her, Rollo cranked his face over his shoulder and looked her up and down in far too frank a manner. He was out of place in here, where the air throbbed with pretense and fashion. He wore a very old tweed sportcoat and a washed-out plaid shirt. His black hair, the soggy remnants of an old d.a., spilled over his collar. His face looked dried out by drink.

Robbie motioned to the piano bar up above and told Kosic a quick joke: A guy comes into a joint, opens his briefcase, and on the bar puts down a miniature Steinway and a little man one foot tall. The little man plays for an hour and the guy collects a number of tips. When the barkeep expresses his admiration, the man with the briefcase grimaces. `Whoever heard of a genie with a hearing problem? You really think I asked for a twelve-inch pee-nist?'

Rollo took it the way he might have tried to shake off a punch, twitching out the sour leavings of a smile. He crushed his cigarette and shook his head. He drank oldfashioneds, and kept his right hand on his glass most of the time, his index finger curled inward. Robbie had explained that the nail had a sinister look, a little like the shell of a rotting walnut. It had been crushed in the service while Rollo was hauling an artillery round. It grew back black and rimpled, and was ordinarily hidden. Feaver said that was the only way to tell when Rollo was angry, since he otherwise maintained a morbid and haunting lack of affect. But when he extended that index finger at you, with that ugly token at the end, it was not a good sign.

At the moment, Kosic took the stem of his cherry between his thumb and third finger. He gave it a twirl, then knocked the glass back, draining it and taking one of the ice cubes in his mouth. He chewed on it as Robbie and Evon stood beside him in silence. When Lutese came their way, Robbie put a fifty on the bar and surrendered his stool to Evon, asking Lutese to refill Rollo and to tell Evon her fortune. She and Robbie, even Kosic, watched while Lutese shuffled and smoothly dealt out the tarot cards, despite the glistening obstruction of her yellow nails, each curved like a parrot's bill.

"Home?" she heard Kosic ask Robbie very softly, apparently thinking Evon was distracted. His voice was high, a virtual countertenor. She wondered if its feminine quality accounted for his reluctance to speak.

"Not good," Robbie answered.

Kosic grunted. It was not clear if that was a response to Lorraine's condition or to the fact that Lutese had just put down his drink.

"Listen," Robbie said to Kosic, "I'm happy to bump into you, I got a little something. I've been trying to figure out who to talk to. Maybe you can give me a pointer. You don't mind listening, right? It's a barroom. Everybody's gotta tell you their problems." Robbie laughed. When Evon's eyes drifted sideways, she saw Kosic toss another ice cube into his mouth.

"Anyway, I got some problems in a case I filed a couple weeks back." Robbie named it.

"Who'd you draw?" Kosic asked neutrally. There was no way to tell if he truly didn't recall.

"Malatesta."

"Good judge," said Kosic, then added, "Knows the law."

Lutese continued dealing on the granite bar top, talking to the figures on the cards as if they could hear her.

"Right," Evon heard Robbie say in her earpiece. "Normally, you know, I'm really happy to get him. But I got a very big problem. Case is a Structural Work Act. Client's painting an atrium and a scaffolding collapses. Serious, serious back injuries. Herniations, L-4 and -5. So I call to tell him we filed, they always want to know, and he says, `I'm a little numb, I just saw my internist and I've got stage four cancer of the lung.' Cancer! Now I got a hellacious problem. Case is worth zip if the insurer finds out he's a goner, right? No loss of future earnings."

With considerable circumspection, Robbie detailed his troubles in having the case before Malatesta. For Robbie to have any hope of recovering much, the judge would have to quickly suspend the discovery process while Bobbie attempted to settle. But Malatesta never agreed to stay discovery, a practice only Judge Skolnick ordinarily allowed. Walter's warning made it certain that Malatesta would not consider a deviation in this case.

"So I got a bellyful on this one," Robbie told Kosic.

Robbie, as usual, had laid down the pitch just as Sennett and McManis had scripted it. He wasn't asking for relief so much as issuing a warning. Everybody would end up a loser if the case remained before Malatesta. As he spoke, Robbie concentrated on the TV over the bar where mud bikes were spinning through glop. Evon was pretending to watch the piano. Looking back, she saw Kosic's small eyes aimed at Feaver. A pure, deadly light beamed from them. He was flicking nervously at the notch over his lip, touching it again and again with his blackened fingernail. He said absolutely nothing.

Taking the cue, Robbie shifted at once to talk of the Indiana basketball team which had clobbered the Hands, the U.'s team, last week. Kosic showed no interest. He got off his stool and threw back the diluted remains of his drink. Lutese, at that moment, laid out the last of the cards, a red queen, and stared down at it. When her wide brown eyes rose to Evon, they held a look of alarm.